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CO 


AN 


Ideal Fanatic 



HESTER EDWARDS PORCH. 

u 


5 


“ What profits us that we from Heaven derive, 

A soul immortal, and with looks erect, 

Survey the stars, if like the brutal kind, 

We follow where our passions lead the way.” 

— Dry dm. 






CHICAGO: 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY. 


1883 . 





COPYRIGHT, 1883, 

BY 

I 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY. 


* 




« 


PRINTED BY 

R. Donnelley & Sons. 


BOUND BY 

A. J. Cox & Co 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. — Dead Sea Fruit, - 9 

II. — He Finds an Undine, - - - - 20 

III— The St. Georges, . - - - - 34 

IV. — Young Loye, - - - . - 42 

V— A Dangerous Circe, ... 55 

VI.— The Shadows op Fate, - - - 64 

VII.— She Stoops to Conquer, ... 74 

VIII. — Christmas Presents, - - - - 87 

IX— A Long Farewell, .... 96 

X.— Confused Ideals, - - - - 103 

XI— Fanaticism, ----- 117 

XII. — The Blight upon Love’s Opening Flower, 123 

XIII— Death Passes Near, - - 135 

XIV— The Courage of Despair, - - - 146 

XV. — Disenchantment, - - - 156 

XVI. — It Might Have Been, - 170 

XVII. — A Race with Death, - - - 176 

XVIII— Thank Him and Bless Him, - - - 191 

XIX. — Unloved Fetters, - 198 

XX.— A Thirst for Vengeance, - - - 205 

XXI.— Love Pleads with Love, - - - 216 

XXII.— The Last Resort, - 227 

XXIII.— The Unexpected Guest, - - - 235 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB. PAGE. 

XXIV.— Within Fate’s Iron Grasp, - - -247 

XXV— All for a Woman’s Face, - - 267 

XXVI. — Loves that have gone Astray, - - 273 

\ 

XXVII.— Until Death us do part, - - - 283 

XXVIII. — La Veturie, - 304 




AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER L 


DEAD SEA FRUIT. 


“ Standing with reluctant feet, 
Where the hrook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet.” 


— Longfellow. 


ROM the unclouded sky of a summer morning, 



J- the sun glowed down upon an orchard more 
than usually picturesque with both neglect and age. 
Trees in every stage of decay and of development 
were closely mingled, and seemed to mark the gen- 
erations that had passed, since they first blossomed 
into fruit. Some had grown to huge size, and their 
moss-grown trunks and barren limbs, still cumbered 
the ground, to hinder the fairer development of the 
coming species. Yet, notwithstanding this, and all 
other untoward circumstances, Nature had seemed to 
do her utmost in thwarting these baleful influences, 
and had not only given luxuriant limbs and stately 
height to many of the later generations, but had 
bounteously crowned them with the glory and pur- 
pose of their existence. Fruit almost tropical in 
perfection, each after its kind, ladened their boughs 
heavily, and hung motionless in the summer air. 

This was especially true of a pear-tree which had 
grown to uncommon breadth and height. Beneath 


9 


10 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


its spreading branches a slender, dark-eyed girl, 
stood gazing wishfully upward at the luscious fruit 
that was beyond her reach. She had tried every 
available means to bring it down ; shaken the tree’s 
lowest limbs, thrown stone after stone, and only a 
few over-ripe and damaged ones had rewarded her 
efforts. 

A moment she stood irresolute ; not that she con- 
templated leaving it, — she was only hesitating as to 
the means she should employ to procure it. 

“ Of what good is my knowing how to climb,” 
she soliloquized, “ if I cannot put it into use when 
it is so much needed? And I certainly never 
wished for anything half so much as for this tempt- 
ing fruit. Annetta promised me that I should have 
what this tree would bear. Since the bursting of 
its first tiny bud I have watched the growing fruit ; 
and shall I leave it now ? To-day it is Annetta’s to 
give ; to-morrow it may be its lawful owner’s.” 

Once more she gazed up eagerly ; then a resolute 
look flashed from her dark eyes. She took up her 
basket, placed it on her arm and stepped to the 
tree. 

“ It is so long since I have even tried to climb,” 
she said aloud, “ and I have grown so tall and awk- 
ward ; but that which is not worth our best efforts 
to procure is scarcely worth the procuring.” 

Stimulated by this sound philosophy, she began 
the ascent, which proved less difficult than she had 
feared ; the tree being old and having many gnarls 
and outgrowths with which to grapple. In the 
very midst of the alluring fruit she was soon seated, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


11 


elated almost as much by the daring feat as by the 
prize it won her. The pears once gathered, she en 
joyed so much her eyrie perch, that she was loth to 
leave it, and was so happy in the accomplishment 
of her desire that, in the glad exuberance of youth, 
she sang aloud the merriest song she knew, a rol 
licking hunter’s carol. 

“What will Annetta say if she hears me?” she 
said to herself at last. Then laughing softly, she 
thought, “ I will sing her favorite song and be off, 
before she has time to find me, if she should try;” 
and Auld Robin Gray, in a clear, sweet voice, float- 
ed out upon the morning air. When the sound of 
the last note died away, she climbed up slowly from 
her seat, and was preparing to descend, when, to 
her horror, she saw approaching, not Annetta, whose 
possible coming she had thought playfully to elude, 
but a man, both young and handsome. Her unlady 
like elevation was certainly sufficiently embarrassing, 
but, added to this, she had the fear that he would 
believe her a thief, and viewed her position in far too 
tragic a manner, to be able to see anything ludicrous. 
Drawing her skirts closely about her, she crouched 
down against the tree, and hoped to escape obser 
vation. It was her song that had startled the gen 
tleman in his solitary walk through the grounds, 
and lured him to the garden wall ; then left him be- 
nighted, but determined if possible to find the morn- 
ing lark. He climbed over the wall into the or- 
chard and looked around ; no one was in sight, and 
not a sound was to be heard. 

“ Can I have been dreaming ? ” he thought 


12 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Surely, that voice was human, and if so where is 
its corporeal presence ? ” He looked behind two or 
three large apple trees, examined carefully in and 
around a grove of quinces, and then went over and 
stopped in the shade, immediately below the trem- 
bling, frightened girl ; picked up a pear that had fal- 
len, sat down upon the long matted grass, and tak- 
ing from his pocket a silver knife, ate the fruit leis- 
urely. 

“ If I had only kept quiet,” she thought, shiver- 
ing with the torture of her unnatural position ; “ he 
heard my voice, and has been hunting for me, and it 
is small advantage to me, that he has given over the 
chase, if he sits moping there all day. Who upon 
earth can he be, anyway ? ” 

The minutes rolled by, and seemed like hours to 
her — ten, fifteen, then half an hour had passed. She 
felt that her limbs were growing numb and cold, but 
feared to move, lest the cracking branches might be- 
tray her. All this time the gentleman seated be- 
neath, had been enjoying the quiet of the lovely 
morning, and utterly forgetting the voice of the 
ignis fatuus that had lured him to the spot, 
(wooed to it by the familiar scene,) was looking 
back, through memory’s golden gate, to those young, 
stainless years, that, even to the happy, seem always 
best and fairest. Tired at last of sitting, he took off 
his hat, and lolled back lazily upon the green sward. 
His eyes naturally turned upward, and he saw a girl’s 
white, terror-stricken face. The situation was clear 
to him at once ; he dropped his hat over his eyes, 
and made no sign that he had seen. In a minute or 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


13 


two, lie got up, walked leisurely off to a little distance 
and stopped. He was in a dilemma. 

“ If I thought she could get back safe to terra 
firma without my assistance, I would go off without 
a word,” he said to himself; “ but suppose she can’t, 
then I would be a brute to leave her.” With this 
impulse he spoke. 

“ Can I assist you to descend ?” he asked grave- 
ly, and with perfect self-possession ; which last, the 
piercing shriek that answered him completely shat- 
tered. 

The sound of his voice was so unexpected, and 
her nerves so overwrought, that well nigh uncon- 
sciously, and without her own volition, she screamed 
aloud. The fruit-laden basket fell from her arm 
and it cost her an effort not to follow it. The noise 
startled the gentleman, who was still standing with his 
back to her, and he turned at once, fearing that she 
had herself fallen ; but seeing that this was not true, 
he resumed his former position, and asked again, if 
he could assist her. 

“ No ! 99 was the churlish answer. 

“ Do you think you can get down without my as- 
sistance ?” 

“ Yes, yes ! if you will only go away,” was the 
impatient reply. After a moment she continued ex- 
citedly, “ I am not a thief; I was not stealing the 
pears, Annetta gave them to me.” 

The absurdity of the whole affair had been dawn- 
ing upon him for a moment or two, and this last was 
too much for his already excited risibles. He burst 
into hearty, unrestrained laughter, and without an- 


14 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


other word, walked off rapidly, in what direction she 
neither saw nor cared ; it was enough to know that 
he was out of sight; straightening her stiffened limbs 
for a moment or two, she made a rather awkward 
descent, with the mental resolution, that when next 
she climbed, the tree would be her own, and within 
walls so high, that no man could intrude. 

When she reached the ground, she smoothed as 
well as possible her crumpled hat, picked up her bas- 
ket and started rapidly homeward, leaving behind 
her without a sigh, the precious fruit, that had cost 
her so dear. Reaching the woods she almost flew 
down the path that led to the gate which opened on 
the highway. When she came up to it, flushed, 
breathless, and trembling in every limb, she was 
dismayed to see the same gentleman leaning quietly 
against it. 

He saw the flying figure, and when she stopped, 

with a prolonged “ Oh ! ” was surprised to find 

her so tall. Baring his blonde head, he bowed cour- 
teously, and said kindly. 

“ I see that your basket is empty, and I cannot 
permit you to take it so. You must return with me 
and gather the fruit of your toil ; for certainly, such 
labor should not have been in vain.” 

She discovered a gleam of amusement in his eyes, 
and being a little indignant with him still, for hav- 
ing laughed at her, answered coldly. 

“I do not care for it now, it is ‘Dead Sea’ fruit.” 

“But 1 1 think there is not the least danger of it 
turning to ashes on your lips,” he replied, not a little 
amused by her manner. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


15 


“ Oh ! not literally of course, but I could no longer 
take any delight in its possession, and therefore do not 
want it,” she answered flatly. 

“ What a young philosopher you are,” he said, 
smiling down at her, much interested as well as 
amused. He saw that she was becoming embar- 
rassed by his not opening the gate and said very 
gently: 

“ I should like to know my first visitor’s name ; I 
have been so long a wanderer on the earth, that I 
am a stranger where I should be known best, in the 
very 4 halls of my fathers.’ ” 

The dark eyes dilated with amazement as she 
looked up at him and asked in a quick, eager voice, 

“Who are you, then? Not, surely, Mr. St. 
George of Olney Heights ?” 

“ The very same,” he answered, smiling. 

“Not the one I mean,” she said, shaking her 
head dubiously; “for he is old, and has a wife and 
family. My father knew him well ; he was a college 
friend, and my father is not young,” she finished 
sententiously. 

“ No doubt to your young eyes he does not seem 
so. What is your father’s name?” 

“ Chester Vivien.” 

4 4 Is it possible that you are my old friend 
Chester’s little daughter,” he said, and holding out 
his hand to her added , 44 You must shake hands with 
me for your father’s sake ; in the old time we loved 
each other well.” 

She took his hand, but looked at him shyly, and 
still a little doubtfully. It was so hard for her to 


16 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


believe that this almost boyish-looking man had been 
the comrade of her father’s youth, forgetting, or not 
realizing that her father, who should have been in 
the very splendor of his manhood, from disease and 
care was old and worn at thirty-eight. 

“ Little doubter,” he said, laughingly, seeing that 
she did not quite believe him. “ I will go with you 
to your father, and let him prove my truth.” 

“ If you are really Harold St. George,” she said, 
hesitatingly, “ you could not give my father a 
greater pleasure.” 

“ Do you live here, or are you visiting your 
father’s aunt?” he asked. 

“ My aunt is dead, and we live here,” she replied, 
gravely. 

“ Well, I am surprised ; I never thought of your 
father coming here to live. When I left home, 
eleven years ago, he certainly had no intention of 
doing so.” 

“Great misfortunes forced him to leave New 
York, and this little New-England farm, bequeathed 
to him by his aunt, is very nearly all that is left to 
him of a once large fortune.” 

“ My poor friend Chester ; I had not even heard 
of his misfortunes,” he said, sadly. 

“ I was a very little girl when it all happened,” 
she continued, “ for it has been more than ten years 
ago, and of course I do not remember much of the 
old life ; but I know that the change must have 
been terrible to both my father and mother.” 

“Is your father as fond of his bocks as ever?” 

“Just as fond, and grows more so, if that be pos- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


17 


sible. Sometimes I am very jealous of them, but he 
is such a dear, kind father to me, that I love even* 
his foibles.” 

“ Has he other children ? ” 

“ I am my father’s only child, but my mother has 
another daughter, Maud Tremaine.” 

He remembered then that his friend did marry a 
widow with one child. He had been often at their 
house in the first three years of their married life. 

“ My little friend has not yet told me her own 
name,” he said, after a moment’s pause. 

“ Oh, excuse me, sir ! I had forgotten that you 
asked; Clare is my name.” 

“ Clare Vivien,” he repeated, “ a pretty name, 
and well suited to you. Now, if you will return 
with me, Miss Clare ” 

“ Don’t call me that ; no one has ever done so. 
I am plain Clare Vivien.” 

“Well, then, Clare Vivien, he said, smiling into 
the lovely upturned eyes, that were the one glory 
of the wan young face, “ if you will return with me 
to yonder pear-tree, and once more gather its dis- 
carded fruit, as your ‘knight errant’ I will go home 
with you and see your father.” 

“ Will you ?” she asked, eagerly. “ It will make 
him so happy ; I will go back at once for the 
pears.” 

She started off so rapidly, that it was with some 
difficulty he kept pace with her. She no longer 
doubted his identity with the hero and Paladin she 
had heard of from childhood, although he was in 
nothing like the man she had expected to see. 

B 1* 


18 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


When they had reached the pear-tree, he took 
the basket from her arm, filled it, and placed it on 
his own. Then they started off, this time to Clare’s 
home. 

They did not go far, before they were chatting as 
merrily and familiarly as might old long severed 
friends. His name alone was sufficient passport to 
her favor ; and the bright piquant girl, even though 
she had not been Chester Vivien’s daughter, would 
still have had a charm for him. 

From Mr. Vivien’s house you could see plainly 
the little town of Olney, and the river which went 
rushing by, turning its mills, and in fact doing al- 
most everything for it that made it a town. When 
Clare and Mr. St. George reached the gate, she 
opened it and invited him to enter. A straight path, 
bordered on each side by beds of flowers, led up to 
the low vine-wreathed piazza. The house was an 
old-fashioned brick, somewhat rambling and with a 
queer gothic roof. On one side of the wide hall as 
they entered was the parlor ; and on the other, Mr. 
Vivien’s study, or library, as it was generally called. 
At the door of this room, Clare hesitated a moment 
before opening it. When they entered, Mr. St. 
George put down his basket, and stood waiting while 
she went softly to her father, who was alone, and 
laying her hand on his head, said, “ Father ?” 

“ What is it, my darling ?” he asked, looking at 
her very tenderly. 

“ I have brought you a great surprise, and one 
that will give you pleasure,” she answered, motion- 
ing Mr. St. George to approach. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


19 


Mr. Vivien was mystified, but rose instinctively 
to his feet, and turning met suddenly his unexpected 
guest. They looked a moment in silence, and then, 
“ Harold !” 

“ Chester!” 

came a glad cry from each man’s lips. Long and 
earnestly they clasped hands, and Clare was stand- 
ing near, her young eyes dim with happy tears. 


20 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER II, 


HE FINDS AN UNDINE. 


“ I wonder, friend, that it should be God’s care 
To haye made at all, what matter when or how, 
A being so sadly, desolately rare, 

So beautifully incomplete as thou.” 


— Fawcett. 


HE past eleven years to Harold St. George had 



-L been as eventful, and in many things more har- 
rowing than they had been to Chester Vivien ; but 
he had far greater courage, and more physical ability 
to endure ; and the passing years had left upon him 
few marring imprints. 

When little beyond his majority, his father (who 
through life had lived prodigally), died, and left him 
for inheritance, only his enormous debts. At that 
father’s bedside ere death had claimed its own, he 
made a solemn promise to redeem the old place, that 
had been for generations the home of a St. George ; 
and the consummation of this aim, became to him not 
only a sacred duty, but his highest happiness. When 
the estate was finally settled up, barely enough re- 
mained to buy Olney Heights, its gardens, orchards, 
and a few surrounding acres. With only his energy, 
and sufficient money to defray his expenses for a 
few months, he started West; leaving his old home 
in the care of his father’s gardener, James Lester, 
and his wife, Annetta ; who being devoted to him, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


21 


and deeply attached to Olney Heights, proved that 
he could not have left it in better hands. 

It had been his intention to make law his pro- 
fession, and he had graduated at both Harvard and 
Edinburgh, Scotland ; but his disastrous fortunes di- 
verted him for a time from his purpose. In Cali- 
fornia he became acquainted with an intelligent 
Frenchman of good birth and some fortune, and 
soon interested himself with him in mining stocks 
and various other speculations, all of which were 
successful beyond their most sanguine hopes. 

In a few years he was able to possess himself once 
more, of every foot of ground that had been the in- 
heritance of a St. George. This sacred duty faith- 
fully performed, the people of Olney heard little 
more of him. They knew that he had married; had 
practiced his profession in San Francisco, and that 
he stood high at the bar ; but they knew nothing 
more ; and as the years rolled on, and still he did 
not come, the^began to fear that a St. George would 
never again hold hospitable court at Olney Heights. 
As the place was not for sale or rent, there seemed 
little hope of it being occupied during his lifetime. 

Mr. St. George did not himself realize that he 
had inherited any of those vices which had so near- 
ly proved the destruction of his race, but notwith- 
standing this unconsciousness, was the veriest slave 
to one of the most dangerous and subtle of them, 
an almost insane love of the beautiful in both art 
and nature. He called it a worship of the ideal ; 
and utterly ignoring its grossness, by every sophistry 
reason could frame, had taught himself to believe, 


22 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


that physical and spiritual perfection were insepar- 
able. 

After six months acquaintance, he married Rene 
de Beausenante, the only child of his friend and 
partner, who was the spoiled darling of her father’s 
heart. Her uncommon beauty took his heart by 
storm ; she was his realized ideal in all its perfection. 
He was desperately in love with her ; in love with 
a beauty that lured him to years of misery. 

For six months she kept him in continual fear and 
torment ; now favoring his suit, and now capricious- 
ly slighting it, until with the rashness of youth, and 
the exuberance of passion, he resolved, if possible, 
to end the conflict and make her his own. 

He triumphed, and for eight bitter years paid full 
penalty for that triumph. He was, alas ! not long 
discovering that the fair face and perfect form en- 
shrined a dwarfed and puny mind. Her thoughts 
were not his thoughts, and those pleasures that 
seemed a necessity to her frivolous nature, soon 
palled upon his loftier aims. As his mind expanded 
and matured, hers stood still, and by very contrast, 
seemed to shrink and shrivel. 

She was all he could ever hope to make her ; in 
youth, a thing of beauty, bright, piquant, and when 
she would be, charming, and he was not more dili- 
gent in the pursuit of fame, than she in the pursuit 
of pleasure. 

An epicurean in her philosophy to a high degree, 
she resolutely avoided whatever might give her pain. 
A careless, brilliant butterfly, she went thoughtless- 
ly dancing down the shores of time, having no 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


23 


thought, and no care, for the life her folly was mar- 
ring. 

Mr. St. George hoped much from the birth of 
their child. “ It will be the soul that my Undine 
is so much in need of,” he would say to himself. 

The little being came, a ray of sunlight to him, a 
soul to be nurtured and trained ; but to her, the toy 
and plaything of an idle hour, nothing more. 

As the years rolled on, husband and wife grew 
wider and wider apart. In her way she was happy, 
having received from the world all she had asked 
of it ; and knowing nothing of those higher joys 
that are the natural fruit of harmoniously blended 
lives. He permitted no wish of hers to pass un- 
noted or ungratified. “ If these paltry things can 
make her happy, let her be happy,” he would think. 
As for himself, he was desolate and aimless enough ; 
the very fires of his ambition seemed quenched ; and 
longing once more for the home of his childhood, he 
proposed to her to return with him and help him to 
rebuild its shattered altars. But she only laughed 
at his absurdity in even dreaming of such a thing ; 
being too entirely wedded to the life she was living 
to think of changing it voluntarily. 

“ Go to the country,” she would say, “Mon 
Dieu ! desirez-vous briser mon cceur ? if you would 
have change of place, there is but one change I will 
make ; take me to Paris, charmante, ravissante Paris; 
oh ! that would be Heaven.” Then she would clasp 
her little hands, and sigh as devoutly for her para- 
dise on earth, as rapt saint ever sighed for their 
Heaven of love in the skies. 


24 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


She had left Paris when little more than a child ; 
but its bewildering memories lingered with her still, 
and she looked forward to her return as a pilgrim to 
his Mecca. 

In this, as in everything else where she cared to 
make the effort, she had her own way. Husband 
and father soon yielded to her wishes ; the latter 
against his will ; for years before, on quitting France, 
much as he loved her, in the bitterness of an 
exile’s wrath he had sworn never to return. True, 
in his loyal and patrician heart, he had loved but 
little better, that “ many headed monster thing,” for 
which the people cried, “ Vive la Republique ; ” but 
he could not forgive the usurpation that to his mind 
seemed basely treacherous, and to foreign lands, car- 
ried his grief and his rebellion. 

In Paris for six months, Mrs. St. George had led 
the gayest and most frivolous of lives. Admitted to 
the “ beau monde,” by right of birth, beauty and 
fortune, in its charmed circle she reigned a bright, 
particular star. Her days and nights were a round 
of giddy pleasures. Balls, fetes and operas seemed 
to her to be alone worth living for, and the delicate 
woman was far more untiring than the husband and 
father she led so relentlessly in her train. 

Mr. St. George had long ceased to reproach her, 
knowing how futile would be all his efforts to make 
her comprehend what the woman should be, who 
could fill his life with a rich completeness. 

But her father would say to her : 

“ Rene, my child, you are mad ; have you no 
deeper thoughts than of pleasures like these, that 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


25 


fade in an hour ? You are both a wife and mother, 
why cannot your God given duties, win you from 
such lightness ? Have you no soul to be saved, no 
fear of that day when you shall stand in the presence 
of the Most High, to give an account of the life you 
have misspent here, disregarding all sacred obliga- 
tions ? ” 

For all such disapprobation, tears were Rene St. 
George’s ready and powerful weapon. She would 
weep bitterly, not from the faintest touch of remorse 
or repentence, but from the feeling that he had 
pained her unnecessarily.. He loved her so well, 
that he could not endure to witness her grief, and 
would kiss away the tears, and leave her as hopeless- 
ly bent on the “ pleasures that pall.” 

It was thus her giddy thoughtless life went on, 
until death claimed the one, who had been to her, 
both father and mother. Least of all, she could 
spare him from her life. At the loss of both hus- 
band and child she would have grieved far less. For 
him her sorrow seemed terrible ; like a stricken ani- 
mal she mourned, without hope or capacity for con- 
solation. 

Selfish even in her grief, she would cry : 

“ O, Mon Dieu ! je suis desole, il m’aimie et ma 
vie fait un songe de plaisir. Maintenant il est mort 
ayez, pitie, O, Mon Dieu ! ” 

But selfish as it was Harold St. George was glad 
to have evidence of even that much soul. For, many 
times in the years that had passed, recalling old leg- 
ends of a mystic people, who had lived upon the 

earth, and especially that ideal creation of this fa- 
2 


26 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


bled race, “Donatella” in the “Marble Faun ; ” 
to whose gay, glad life, her own bore such analogy 
dark, dreadful thoughts would come to him, that 
it might be possible for the fair woman, to whom he 
was chained for life, to be one of those soulless be- 
ings, capable only of the joys and sorrows of animal 
existence. But in calmer and wiser moments, both 
reason and God’s revelation taught him, that this 
could not be true, and that she was only one of the 
many who go laughing and dancing through life, to 
the sound of merriest music, their motto ever, “Let 
us enjoy while we may,” and having no more thought 
for the morrow than the beasts of the field, or the 
birds of the air. 

Paul de Beausenantehad been in his grave scarce 
a year, when his daughter plunged again into her 
old life, with, if possible, more recklessness than ev- 
er before. But in some way it failed to bring her 
its wonted pleasures; she soon grew weary of it all, 
and sighing for change, her husband, obedient still 
to her wish, took her to Nice, Baden Baden, Rome, 
Florence, London, everywhere that her capricious 
fancy could suggest. 

But she was never the same anymore, and seemed 
pining always for her loved and lost. Day by day, Mr. 
St. George saw that she was becoming more fragile, and 
that the wan face grew paler and paler ; until at last 
one fair June day, he laid her tenderly by her fath- 
er’s side in “ Pere le Chaise ; ” believing that if she 
could have chosen freely, she would have preferred 
death beside the one she had loved best on earth, to 
life with him, or any other. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


27 


“ But for my persistent folly in wooing her,” he 
would think, remorsefully, “she might have some 
day loved and wedded, one altogether suited to her, 
who might have perfected the life, that with all her 
father’s love and my own, was only half complete. 
But she is gone now, and with her all the rich pos- 
sibilities of her undeveloped nature; and oh, my 
God ! forgive me if I have left unsaid or undone, 
aught that could have guided her immortal soul to 
life and light. 

“You have been kind to me, Harold, ah ! so very 
kind, and the little Rene will repay you ; she will 
love you, even as I have loved my father.” 

These were Rene St. George’s last words to her 
husband. Then, like a tired child, her eyelids 
closed, and she slept that dreamless sleep from 
which there is no waking on this side of the tomb. 

The peaceful, flower-like death, did not console 
her sorrowing husband, for the absence of all holy 
thoughts or immortal longings; and over the beau- 
tiful inanimate clay, he wept the bitterest tears of 
his life. 

Having missed the keynote of her heart he had 
thought himself powerless to interfere with the life 
she had chosen. But when it was too late, he re- 
membered only the sunny-hearted woman, who had 
seemed never to outgrow the innocent gayety of 
childhood, and who, with all her frivolity and mad 
pursuit of pleasure, had done no evil, and of the 
whole world, thought kindly; and the feeling re- 
lentlessly pursued him, that it might have been dif- 
ferent had he been more courageous. 


28 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Very soon he left Paris, a sadder if not a wiser 
man, and after two years’ wandering with his only 
child, had once more sought his native land and the 
home so long abandoned. But one day, after his 
arrival, Clare Vivien’s bird-like voice had charmed 
him to her presence. The rest we know. 

Chester Vivien’s life, to a great extent, had been 
what he had himself made it ; not half so sad as the 
younger man’s, but if possible more a mockery. From 
his father who, (dying when at the head of a large 
commercial house,) he inherited both name and for- 
tune. It being his father’s wish that his son should 
take the place in the firm so long filled by himself, 
Chester Vivien made the effort ; but being a dream- 
er always, and far more a scholar than a merchant, 
month after month he saw his father’s hard-earned 
wealth, like shifting sand, pass rapidly from him, 
until at the ladder’s lowest round he stopped, giddy 
and breathless with his misfortunes. 

At twenty-one he had married a gay and beauti- 
ful widow with an only child, a girl of three or four 
years. She had helped him spend his fortune with 
lavish prodigality ; but when she saw with him, that 
only a remnant of it remained, more practical than 
he, froin that hour she took the reins in her own 
hands, and by courage and perseverance won a com- 
fortable livelihood for her family from the wreck. 
Mr. Vivien’s business settled up, they went at once 
to Olney, and took possession of the old farm house, 
where, during the life-time of his aunt, he had passed 
many happy hours. 

When they arrived, they found Joseph and Mar- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


29 


garet Hardy had charge of the farm. These faith- 
ful servants of their aunt were so closely identified 
with Claremont, that they seemed almost -as much a 
legacy to them as the farm itself, and they of course 
retained them. The place had been named by 
Miss Vivien in remembrance of another and dearer 
home, which bore her mother’s maiden name. Ches- 
ter Vivien’s young daughter had also a portion of 
this name, that to the Viviens was revered and sa- 
cred. Truly, no home could have suited their 
changed fortunes better. The house was older than 
the village itself, and was built by the first mill- 
owner and founder of Olney. 

Mr. Vivien was too great a student to be a really 
practical farmer, but having considerable mechani- 
cal genius, he had invented several really, valuable 
agricultural implements; and at the time we write 
of was engaged in something more ambitious than 
he had yet attempted — the effort to both light and 
heat his house with the same fluid, by a method 
which he said that he had been maturing in his 
mind for years, but had never gotten quite perfect 
enough for patenting. To this, and to his books, 
the greater part of his spare time was devoted. 

He had always been a kind and tender father to 
his only child ; and having been her sole instructor, 
her education was of course somewhat erratic, but 
for all that, none the less thorough, she knowing 
well whatever he had attempted to teach her. It 
was well that the tie between father and child was 
so close and tender, for the mother had little heart 
left for her, being so entirely absorbed in her beau- 


30 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


• 

tiful darling, Maud Tremaine, the child of her first 
marriage. With the unerring instincts of childhood, 
Clare Vivien had perceived and grown up with the 
knowledge, that she had small place in her mother’s 
heart, and had learned to comfort herself with the 
certainty that she was everything to the father she 
loved. 

Maud Tremaine was educated in the convent of 
Le Sacre Coeur in Paris, but after returning to 
America, attended for more than a year a finishing 
school in New York. She was a remarkably fine 
linguist, speaking two or three different languages 
with the purest accent, conversed fluently, and 
danced like a fairy ; and the aunt by whom she was 
educated, felt perfectly satisfied that her money had 
been well expended. Mrs. Duerson was Mr. Tre- 
maine’s sister, a wicTow with ample means, fond of 
travel, and devoted to society. She was very proud 
of her brilliant niece, and being a zealous Catholic, 
had brought her up in her own religion, and left 
nothing undone that could win the young girl’s 
affection; but in some way she failed to supplant 
the mother, who, in her far-off home, was 
pining always for her absent child. Interest in that 
child’s welfare, sustained the mother in these long 
absences, and self-interest and the love of pleasure 
was the chain which bound her daughter to the 
generous benefactress with whom she was then 
abroad; and Mr. St. George had to renew acquaint- 
ance with only one more member of the family, Mrs. 
Vivien, who entered soon after he was seated, and 
gave him a cordial welcome. She was a stately, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


81 


handsome woman, and but little changed since he 
had seen her last. Chester Vivien was more pleased 
to welcome this friend of his boyhood to his quiet 
home, than he would have been tlie proudest mag- 
nate in the land. Harold St. George’s love and 
confidence, when a gay, light-hearted boy, was one 
of the treasured memories of his life ; and, indeed, 
all that seemed brightest and best in that life, was 
intricately blended with these memories of the 
sunny haired boy he had loved so well. 

“You are the very same, Harold,” he said, after 
talking a few moments with his friend ; “ the very 
same, grown a little older, that is all; anywhere 
upon earth I should have known you.” 

The warm glow of the pleasure he felt in this un- 
expected meeting, flushed his checks, and brightened 
his eyes, until he looked almost as young as 
the man sitting before him. Although he was in 
reality but four years older than Harold St. George, 
ordinarily he looked 'fifteen. Clare sat silently 
listening to them as they talked. She saw her 
father’s eager, unwonted delight, and that her 
mother, too, unbent from her usual frigid calm, and 
was the sweetest and most gracious of women ; and 
she thought, “ What manner of man can he be, to so 
move from all their ordinary ways both my father 
and mother?” 

She looked at him long and intently, and thought 
him as handsome as fancy ever pictured the fabled 
sun-god, and of as royal mien. But her father loved 
and honored him beyond all men, and she was so 
loyal-hearted that this knowledge alori£ could lend 


82 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


such glamour to her eyes, as to make her incapable of 
justly judging him. None the less, from that hour 
in her young heart, she enshrined him a hero, and 
king among men. 

At last, when he arose to take leave of them, as 
in a dream, she heard her father ask, 

“ Have you come home to stay, Harold, or are 
you still a wandering spirit ? ” 

She listened, dreading she knew not why, what 
she might hear. In a voice of inexpressible sadness 
he answered, 

“ Yes, I have come home to stay ; at least, that 
is my intention now. The world has used me a 
little roughly, Chester, and, in truth, no wh6re on 
its broad limits have I found any place like home.” 

Then turning to Mrs. Vivien with a smile, he 
said, 

“I would be glad, madam, if you would permit 
your daughter to accompany me home, that she may 
become acquainted with mine.” 

“ Your family are with you, then,**’ Mrs. Vivien 
said, with some surprise, as she had inferred from his 
conversation that he had come home in advance of 
them. 

“ Oh, yes,” he replied ; “ and I fear that my 
daughter will feel for some time, quite lonely. I 
know that it will give her great pleasure if I can 
present to her so charming a friend.” And he 
smiled benignly into Clare’s dark eyes. 

“Yes, certainly, Clare will go with pleasure,” 
Mrs. Vivien answered, courteously; and glancing 
reprovingly at her daughter, she added ; 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


33 


“ If you will permit her to change her dress.” 

“ Of course, if it is necessary ; but I find no fault 
in this,” he said, giving a hasty good natured glance 
at the blushing girl, and remembering her morning 
escapade with a little amusement, was surprised that 
she was not even less presentable. 

Clare involuntarily looked down at her dress, and 
for the first time discovered that it was not only 
crumpled and soiled, but that her rather hoydenish 
adventure had left rents, that with strangers, would 
be anything but her passport for neatness. She was 
not usually very shy, but for some unaccountable 
reason, felt so then, and it cost some effort to say as 
she left the room, “ I will detain you but a few mo- 
ments.” 

True to her word she did re-appear very soon, ar- 
rayed in fresh muslin, brightened by rose colored 
ribbons ; a narrow piece twined once or twice around 
her finely shaped head ; peeping out here and there, 
through the short, waving dark hair. Simple as was 
her attire, she was looking her very best, and*she 
knew it ; but he only thought, as he looked his ap- 
proval, “ There is great strength and character in 
her face, and some day she will make a charming 
woman.” 

When once more in the open air and free from all 
restraint, it was not long before she was her old frank 
self again ; and delighted the world weary man with 
her freshness, naivete and originality. 


C 


34 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE ST. GEORGES. 


“ Aucun chemin de fleurs ne conduit a la gloire.” 

— La Fontaine. 


HE St. Georges were descended from an Eng- 



-L lishman of noble birth, who in colonial days, 
finding this secluded and romantic spot, on the most 
elevated ground in the vicinity, the very top of a 
frowning cliff which overhung the river, built what 
he evidently hoped would prove, not only a refuge 
and asylum for himself, but for his descendants from 
generation to generation. And after more than a 
century had passed, we could see that time had no- 
where marred its grand proportions, but only dark- 
ened the massive stone walls, and rendered more 
perfect the illusion, that. we were in the old world, 
and stood in the shadow of a turreted and battle- 
mented castle. To right and left of it the ground 
sloped gradually away, and the ascent from either 
of these directions was quite easy ; but not far in the 
rear was a deep ravine, and beyond it rose another 
frowning cliff. The lawn in front extended to the 
very edge of an abrupt declivity, and there, stone 
stairways led down to the river. 

These cliffs, the twin upheaval of their mother 
earth, had long been known as Olney Heights, from 
a romantic, half forgotten legend, of a fair young 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


85 


maiden who bore that name, having 'made from one 
of them, a fearful leap into eternity, when flying from 
terrors greater than those she met. For this legend, 
and the cliffs it named, the first St. George called the 
noble home he had constructed, and almost a gener- 
ation later, a man of enterprise and commercial 
ability, founded the village below and named it Olney, 
in honor of this home of the St. Georges. 

The last three of them who had been masters at 
Olney Heights, when come to man’s estate were lit- 
tle better than “ bon vivants,” living merrily for the 
pleasures of the hour. Brilliantly gifted to little 
purpose, and spending their substance freely ; hot- 
headed, impulsive, but generous even to a foe, dying, 
each one of them left their inheritance more and 
more diminished. But they were beloved, and deep- 
ly mourned by the people among whom they had 
lived ; and whatever evil they might have done, was 
forgiven and forgotten. 

Only one of them, Harold St. George’s father, 
lived to even middle life. He was the eldest of 
three sons, the first time in the history of the family 
there had ever been more than one ; although there 
had been daughters, who were always handsomely 
portioned; but the landed estate remained intact, 
and passed from father to son. 

At this time the estate being already greatly im- 
poverished, it was decided by the father’s last will 
and testament, that when the youngest son came of 
age, it should be divided ; Olney Heights and con- 
siderable property surrounding it, to be the portion 
of the oldest son, and the remainder to be divided 


36 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


equally between the mother and the two younger 
sons. But both of these died young ; and with a 
broken heart, their mother soon followed them. 

Thus at twenty-one, Gaston St. George found 
himself sole heir to all that remained of a once splen- 
did fortune ; and to the last day of his life he spent 
it royally. 

At twenty-five he married a rarely gifted and 
beautiful woman, who transmitted to her son those 
qualities of heart and mind that in the St. Georges 
had become degenerate and well-nigh extinct. Un- 
happily for Gaston St. George’s spiritual and tempo- 
ral welfare, her life was as brief as it was noble ; but 
when at last he was passing from a world he had 
found such delight in, with no power to bequeath 
to his only child the sacred inheritance of his race, 
he did not appeal to those high qualities in vain, 
when he implored^ his son to restore to the St. Georges 
all that his own, and his father’s prodigality had so 
madly and wilfully lost. Harold St. George had 
faithfully kept his promise to the dead, and that day 
as he approached his ancestral home, its proud pos- 
sessor, might well be pardoned some glow of pride in 
the brain and will, that had wrenched it from fortune 
and the grasp of fate itself. 

Clare had found so much to say to him, that they 
reached Olney Heights before she had even thought 
to ask him of the family, whose acquaintance she 
had come to make ; then it was too late, for before 
they were half way up the avenue, a little girl came 
bounding towards them and exclaimed in a sweet 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


37 


childish voice, as Mr. St. George took her in his 
arms, 

“O, mon pere ! j’a’ete si triste, si tres triste ; je 
suis bien aise que vous avez venu.” 

“ Rene, my child,” Mr. St. George said, “ this is 
Clare Vivien, a young friend I have brought to see 
you ; if you will love her she will make it less sad 
for you.” 

Released from her father’s arms, Rene stood look- 
ing up into Clare’s face for a moment in silence, then 
said gravely, 

“ I wish you were not so tall — , but I shall love 
you, I know.” 

Clare bent down impulsively and kissed the little 
fairy who had prophesied so sweetly. 

“ They will be friends, and Rene could not have 
a better,” thought Mr. St. George, complacently, as 
he watched the two walking hand in hand and chat- 
ting gaily. 

They soon came up to the bonne, who mademoi- 
selle, in her impatience to meet her father, had left. 
She was seated in the shade of a tree that bordered 
the avenue. 

“ Celestine,” the little girl said as they approached 
her, “ voyez-vous la jeune demoiselle qu’ est etre 
ma bonne amie ; et j’ ai l’intention d’ ell’ aimer.” 

Rising to her feet, the French woman welcomed 
the young girl politely and pleasantly. She was de- 
votedly attached to her little charge, having filled 
the place of nurse and almost of mother to her from 
babyhood, and was prepared to regard with favor 
any one who would be able to contribute to Rene’s 


38 


AN IDEAL E ANA-TIC. 


pleasure. From pure love for her , and deep respect 
for the master she served, she had been engaged in 
the difficult task of acquiring the English language, 
it being Mr. St. George’s wish that she should speak 
it with his child, for reasons best known to himself. 
Like her mother, although speaking English well, in 
all moments of strong feeling or excitement, she in- 
variably used French, as if by so doing, she were 
better able to express herself completely. It was 
not strange that to him it was the language of pain, 
and while in his heart the wish was not acknowl- 
edged, that his daughter might forget the tongue her 
mother had loved so well ; nevertheless it was there, 
and this instruction to the faithful bonne was the 
first evidence of it. 

When they reached the house, Mr. St. George led 
the way to the library, a spacious, lofty room, that 
had been renovated and made comfortable as his 
temporary sitting room. On the walls hung numer- 
ous portraits of dead and gone St. Georges ; a grand 
piano stood in one corner of the room, and on either 
side were huge cases lined with books that were the 
collection of years. 

This was not Clare’s first introduction to Olney 
Heights, for having been always a favorite of Annet- 
ta’s, she had been from childhood familiar with 
every nook and corner of the grand old house, from 
its loftiest tower chamber to its deepest cellar. 

“I suppose you have been here often?” Mr. St. 
George said, questioningly, a twinkle of amusement 
in his eyes. She caught the drift of his thoughts at 
once, and answered with perfect good humor : 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


39 


“ You judge that I have, no doubt, by the freedom 
with which you found me appropriating your fruit.” 

“O, not at all !” he replied; “but as you have 
grown up in the neighborhood, nothing could be 
more natural than for you to have been.” 

She was beginning to wonder why no other 
members of the family made their appearance, and 
after an awkward pause, putting her arm around the 
little girl, who stood looking up at her, she asked : 

“Have you no other children, Mr. St. George?” 

“ No ; Rene is my only child.” 

“ And your wife — where is she ? ” 

“ My wife is dead,” he answered gravely. In the 
starry eyes that were lifted to his, there was such 
tender compassion, that it thrilled him as no out- 
spoken pity could. For, although the lips did not 
say, I am sorry for you, he read in the beautiful 
eyes a far more eloquent sympathy. She felt just 
as she looked, but by no means knew that she was 
looking as she felt. And he was thinking, “ Alas ! 
it is terrible to live alone ; this child makes me pity 
myself.” 

“I am going to take the young lady to see my 
pets, mon pere,” Rene said, breaking the silence. 

“Call me Clare. I shall not know who you 
mean if you say young lady.” 

“I like the name, and I shall always call you 
that,” Rene said, repeating it in her musical voice. 

When they were out of the house, she led the 
way to a large conservatory where both mocking 
birds and canaries were in hanging cages ; then on 
to the barn-yard, and showed Clare the particular 


40 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


fowls that she had already chosen for pets, having 
made a tour of inspection early in the morning with 
her father. 

When they returned to the house, they found Mr. 
St. George at the piano, playing the accompaniment 
and singing, in a fine tenor voice, u the flower song ” 
from “Faust.” They approached softly and Clare 
joined him with her clear, pure soprano. From that 
song they went to another and another, and were 
singing still when the lunch bell rang. 

Mr. St. George got up, and looking down at her, 
said : 

“ Do you know, my child, that you are a genius ? 
Who has taught you to sing like this ? ” 

“I have never had very much instruction,” she 
answered, timidly, embarrassed by the approbation 
she saw was genuine. 

“Your voice is a treasure, and it should be culti- 
vated,” he said, warmly. 

“ I am going to Madam Campinal’s in New York, 
after Christmas, and shall spend a year or two 
there, principally for instruction in music and the 
training of my voice.” 

“ I am glad that you are,” he replied, feeling 
really interested in her welfare. 

But she was unreasonable enough to be some- 
what piqued, and thought he might have the grace 
to feel a little sorry for her going, if only for Rene’s 
sake. 

Mr. St. George was such a charming host, and so 
determined upon her having a happy day, that she 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


41 


soon forgot all minor grievances, and was merry and 
joyous as even he could wish. 

After lunch they played croquet, and finally 
wandered down to the boat-house at the foot of the 
cliff, and Mr. St. George, who was a fine oarsman, 
took them out on the river for an hour or two. 
Time flew on such wings of pleasure, that it was 
near sunset when Clare started homeward, with Mr. 
St. George for escort. When they reached the gate 
he excused himself from entering, by saying it was 
his dinner hour and he must return. 

“You must let me thank you for the very happi- 
est day of all my life,” she said, impulsively, a glory 
of enthusiasm in the young, upturned face. 

And looking out at the crimson sunset, rather 
than at him, continued, dreamily : 

“ When we were gliding swiftly over the blue 
water, I was so happy that I could not bear to think 
that it would all end, as it must, and does — .” She 
stopped with a sigh. 

Mr. St. George was touched by her ingenuous 
frankness, and said, quickly : 

“ Do not say ended ! for to-morrow it can be con- 
tinued, and every day that you wish. I intend to 
make large demands upon your time, and in return 
shall try to have it pass pleasantly. Good-by, until 
to-morrow,” and making rapid strides he was soon 
out of sight. 

As her eyes followed his vanishing form she 
thought, “how different he is from every one else, 
and how happy I am that I know him.” 


2 * 


42 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER IV. 


YOUNG LOVE, 


“The light of love, the purity of grace, 

The mind, the music breathing from her face, 
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, 
And oh! that eye was in itself a soul.” 


—Byron. 


AY after day Mr. St. George presented himself 



-L^ at Claremont, and it soon became an estab- 
lished fact, that Clare was to devote the greater part 
of her time before going away to Rene and himself. 
The child seemed to adore her, and when she was 
compelled to leave her, was always restless and im- 
patient until her return. 

Mr. St. George, as he said himself, was taking a 
grand holiday, and had nothing to do but devote 
himself to them. 

As long as the weather remained pleasant, he took 
them every day rowing ; and they played all kinds 
of out-door games and rode horseback. Clare was 
an accomplished equestrienne, and had long aston- 
ished the good people of Olney and the surrounding 
country by her daring exploits. 

The one luxury that Mr. Vivien had been able to 
indulge in for his daughter’s pleasure, was a black 
Arabian mare, imported with several others, by a 
man whose friendship had followed him even to ad- 
versity. Clare had trained her to do almost every- 


AH IDEAL FANATIC. 


43 


thing but talk to her. Being very fleet and almost 
as sure footed as a mountain chamois, it was not 
strange that mounted upon her, without any thought 
of harm, her fearless young rider had been able to 
perform feats, that to the villagers and neighbors, 
seemed like reckless tempting of Providence. Some 
of them had gone so far as to remonstrate with her 
parents, and they in turn had reprimanded her. 
But Clare always made answer, “ that there was not 
the least danger, and beside, if she could not ride as 
pleased her best, she did not care to ride at all,” and 
this for the time would hush all remonstrance. 

Having had few playmates the neighbors knew 
little of her, and shook their heads significantly as 
she passed them swiftly. “ She has been a strange 
child always, and will, I fear, never die in her bed,” 
they would say to each other. 

Only three months before Mr. St. George’s return, 
she had convalesced from a long and terrible illness, 
in which her feet had touched the border of the 
silent land. Long and tedious had been her return 
to health and strength, and even then, her wan face, 
cropped hair, and attenuated form, were evidences of 
the fearful struggle she had had with the grim mon- 
ster, “ Death.” 

Mr. Vivien had been deeply anxious, fearing that 
her health was gone forever. For when not riding, 
like one in a dream, she would mope through the 
long summer days, utterly unlike the glad, impul- 
sive, frolicsome child she had been of old. 

At last she was changed ; he saw it, and his heart 
delighted in the knowledge. In all that she did, 


44 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


new zeal was evident ; once more life seemed a some- 
thing to live, and not to dream away. 

She was conscious of the change, and was per- 
fectly frank with herself in acknowledging the source 
of her life’s renewal. 

For some reason scarcely defined to herself, un- 
less it was the feeling that he would not approve, 
she had never taken any of her daring rides when 
with Mr. St. George, and he had admired extrava- 
gantly the beautiful highbred animal that Clare loved 
so tenderly, without knowing anything of her won- 
derful capacities. 

As the autumn merged into winter, their out-door 
sports were abandoned, and music and various kinds 
of in-door games took their place. 

Mr. St. George and his daughter spent much of 
their time at Claremont, and those days when they 
could not (if Clare did not make her appearance at 
the Heights), never failed to send for her ; and, truth 
to tell, she was nothing loth to go, for she had not 
only become tenderly attached to the little Rene, but 
in her ardent, impulsive young heart there was the 
most passionate worship for Rene’s father. Not that 
she had ever analyzed the feeling, or even thought 
much about it. She only knew that she was happy 
and content when with him, and never quite either 
when away from him. 

Mr. St. George, notwithstanding her sixteen years, 
regarded her as an innocent and most engaging child, 
who in a few months had become strangely dear to 
him. He knew that she was a genius in embryo, 
and felt that there were latent depths in her nature, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


45 


whose vibrant chords a master hand would one day 
touch, and bring forth such marvelous sweetness as 
rarely blesses a man’s life. That he was that master 
hand, he neither thought, nor hoped. 

One day when he had been detained longer than 
usual on his estate, he entered the library and found 
both Rene and Clare. The former, tired out from 
play, was lying asleep on a sofa, carefully covered ; 
and beside her, Clare sat reading. When Mr. St. 
George entered she looked up with a bright smile 
of welcome, and closed her book. 

“ What have you been reading, my dear?” he 
asked, taking the book from her hand. 

“ Titan!” he said, with a little surprise, “ do you 
like it?” 

u Yes indeed ! so much that I have read it twice. 
Last summer I read a good many of Jean Paul’s 
works ; my father has all of them. I think they 
suited my mood then, better than any books I know 
of, could have done. The dreamy, exquisite beauty 
of his imagery ; his weird and wonderful denouments, 
and the mystic and lofty purity of his heroes and 
heroines, all combine to waft my spirit to thought’s 
highest and purest realm. To me, always since I 
have known anything of his writings, Richter has 
seemed a being set apart, too purely spiritual and 
unpractical for earth ; and yet, with enough of the 
passions that are human, to unfit him for the skies.” 

Seeing then the deep earnestness of his glance, 
she flushed, and stopped abruptly. 

“ You surprise me greatly,” he said, after a mo- 
ment’s pause, still looking into her eloquent eyes. 


46 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ You have read more, and thought more, than I 
have dreamed of.” 

Then seating himself beside her, he asked num- 
erous questions as to the books she had read, and 
which she had like -best. Her self confidence re- 
gained, they were soon engaged in an animated dis- 
cussion of the merits of different authors. He was 
amazed to find in one so young, a taste so highly cul- 
tivated ; and that her reading with the exception of 
law, had been almost as varied and extensive as his 
own. 

“ You are a wonderful child,’’ he said softly, and 
laying his hand tenderly on the dark, clustering 
hair ; “ but, my dear, you have been reading, when 
you should have been playing ; these wan cheeks 
are no longer a mystery.” 

She shook his hand from her head impatiently, 
and answered a little haughtily : 

“ I am not a child ; in a week or two I will 
be sixteen ; and a long illness, and not reading, has 
caused my pallor.” 

He was amused by her impetuous repudiation, 
and laughed outright, which did not mend matters 
very much. 

“ 1 see you don’t like to be thought a child, 
Clare; but as I did not know that you were so very 
aged, you must forgive me,” he said, looking good 
naturedly into the mutinous young face. 

“ I do not care to be misjudged,” she replied 
with dignity. “I am not a child, in either years, 
thought, or feeling ; and, in fact, in nothing, unless 
it be in my sympathy with childhood.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


47 


The grave intensity of her voice, as much as the 
words, thrilled him deeply, and aroused him for the 
first time to the consciousness, that in many things, 
she had indeed left childhood far behind her. He 
looked long and intently at the downcast face. 

44 How she will love some day; God help her, if 
it be unwisely ; ” he thought, and felt something like 
a pang of envy for the visionary man. 

She was so long silent that Mr. St. George leaned 
towards her, took in his one little reluctant hand, 
and said, gently and questioningly : 

“ You are not offended with me, Clare ? ” 

44 Offended, oh, no ! ” she answered, looking up 
brightly, and feeling not a little ashamed of her pet- 
ulance ; 44 it would take far more than that from you, 
to really offend me.” 

She was so winsome in her naive ingenuousness ; 
that, to this worshiper of beauty, she seemed almost 
beautiful. 

“ What will Rene and I do when you are gone, 
Clare ? ” he asked. 

A shadow passed swiftly over the dark, wistful 
face, and as he looked into the fathomless eyes, they 
grew dim with unshed tears ; but she answered with 
only a slight tremor in her voice : 

44 1 do not know, I am sure, but I hope that you 
will miss me.” 

44 Miss you, little one ; those are not the words,” 
he said, far more tenderly than he was aware of, 
“for do you know,” he continued, 44 that I am self- 
ish enough to have the wish in my heart, to deprive 
you of the rich opportunities this absence will afford, 


48 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


— and if I were capable of teaching you all that you 
ought to know, you should not go. As it is, I have 
not quite made up my mind that you can,” he fin- 
ished in a masterful way ; still holding her hand and 
looking down into the glowing fase. In that mo- 
ment he was not far from loving her, and she had the 
wild wish in her heart, that he would in some way, 
force her to remain. 

“ For nothing that I can learn,” she thought, 
“ will ever repay me for the anguish it will cost to 
leave him.” 

But she answered him nothing, being stilled into 
silence, by a tumult of feeling, that although deeply 
moved himself, he did not dream of. 

Rising, he walked up and down the room with 
some impatience, and the noise of his footsteps awak- 
ened the sleeping child. She got up and lifting her 
little rosebud mouth to be kissed, asked sweetly : 

“ M’aimez-vous, ma cherie ?” and for all answer, 
Clare took her in her arms, kissed her tenderly, 
and saying that she must go home, rose and tied 
on her hat. As usual, Mr. St. George and Rene 
accompanied her, but to-day he declined to go in, 
feeling somewhat distrait , yet hardly knowing why. 

To Clare, life was all couleur de rose , that af- 
ternoon, and she entered the house with such un- 
usual elation of spirit, that her father, to whom she 
went first, did not fail to observe it. He had been 
watching her intently of late, and as she went out 
of the room, in search of her mother, and after a 
moment or two returned to it again, all the while 
singing softly in a glad, sweet voice, he could not 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


49 


help wondering at the change, and when she came 
up to him and laid her arms gently around his neck, 
he said questioningly : 

“ Something has given my birdie unusual pleas- 
ure ? ” 

But he was not prepared for the red flush, that 
in anSjistant dyed both cheek and brow. Making 
him no answer she hid her face on his bosom. 

“ You are a strange child, and past all finding 
out,” he said at last ; “ but I am too happy to see 
you growing into your old bright self once more, to 
quarrel with any little peculiarities.” 

“ Where is mother ?” she asked, after a long 
silence ; “ I could not find her.” 

“She has gone to the village to make some pur- 
chases. By the way, she received a letter from 
your sister Maud this morning, saying that she 
would be here to-morrow afternoon.” 

Clare had known for a week or two that her 
sister was once more in New York ; but it was so 
unusual and unexpected a thing, for her to be 
willing to exchange the gay e ties of the city, at that 
season of the year, for their quiet country home, 
that she was struck with dismay. She did not 
think her actuated by any desire to see her family, 
for she believed Maud Tremaine incapable of even 
the most commonplace of affections. 

“ Why does she come ? ” Clare asked, with such 
evident disquietude, that Mr. Vivien answered in a 
tone of grave reproach : 

“To see us, my child, of course. Will you not 

be glad to see your sister? ” 

D 3 


50 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ No, I will not,” she replied, frankly. “ I can 
love her better in New York, or anywhere else, than 
I can here, for I was never happy an hour with her 
in my life.” 

Mr. Vivien was shocked, and while in his heart 
he did not quite approve of his beautiful step- 
daughter’s imperious ways, he felt that it would not 
do to let this outbreak pass without reproof, and in 
a sad voice said : 

“ I am sorry, my darling, to hear you speak, and 
to know that you feel like this. Remember, Maud 
Tremaine is your mother’s own daughter. She is 
so beautiful, and has been petted and spoiled all her 
life ; but I feel confident that she will grow out of 
her vain, frivolous ways, and that the natural 
nobility of her character will assert itself.” 

“I am sorry to have pained you, father,’’ the 
young girl said, with a touch of remorse, “ and I 
trust you are right in your hopes for Maud Tre- 
maine ; but none the less, I would prefer her to 
undergo the metamorphose somewhere else.” 

“ You are going away so soon, my dear, that she 
cannot trouble you long,” Mr. Vivien said. 

She gave a quick gasp. That was true. It was 
strange that she had not thought of it before. She 
clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, com- 
pletely overcome by the horrors of the situation. 

“lam going away,” she thought, “to leave Harold 
St. George to the mercy of this beautiful and heart- 
less woman. But she may love him, and if she does, 
then, oh, my God ! he will be lost to me forever. 

* She is so beautiful that no man can resist her.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


51 


These thoughts tortured and almost maddened 
her. She fell upon her knees before her father and 
sobbed out, 

“ I cannot, oh, I cannot go away ; it would break 
my heart or drive me mad.” 

Seeing that Mr. Vivien was both grieved and 
surprised, she said : 

“Do not look so, dear father; I only wish to 
stay at home, and I do not care to learn more than 
you can teach me.” 

Then twining her arms closely about him as he 
sat, she lifted her face up nearer to his, and said, 
pleadingly : 

“ You were not wont to refuse anything to your 
little Clare, father, and this is the one wild heart- 
wish she has ever made to you.” 

He was deeply moved and deeply wondering. 

“What can you mean, my child?” he asked. 
“Only a few months since, and you were far more 
anxious to go than I to have you. Why this 
change ? ” 

Receiving no answer, he continued : 

“ I should think that, entertaining the feelings 
you say you do for your half-sister, you would 
rejoice at this chance of escape.” 

It was so impossible for her to make it plain to 
him, but she repeated again and again, tears stream- 
ing from her eyes, 

“ Oh ! do not send me away father, do not send 
me away ! ” At last he took her up tenderly and 
said comfortingly, 


52 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“You shall stay, my child, if I can obtain your 
mother’s consent.” 

“ And will you promise to beg for it ? ” she asked 
eagerly. 

“ Yes, I promise,” he answered a little sadly, 
thinking, no doubt, that his own influence in that 
quarter had often very little weight. But at any 
rate the promise served to soothe and quiet the 
stormy, passionate heart of his child, and that was 
very much to Chester Vivien. 

When his wife returned, she was so much occu- 
pied with preparations for her expected daughter, 
that he said nothing to her on the subject, and again 
quieted Clare, who was wandering about the house, 
restless and miserable, with the assurance that the 
first fitting opportunity he would have it all settled. 

About ten o’clock, Mr. St. George called, and 
asked Clare if she would not go home with him and 
see two pictures that had just arrived. She con- 
sented, and while putting on her hat and cloak, 
Mrs. Vivien entered the parlor and, after chatting 
pleasantly for a few moments, told Mr. St. George 
that she was expecting her older daughter in the 
afternoon, and that she would be glad to have him 
call. 

The truth was, Miss Tremaine’s sudden return 
was a preconcerted arrangement of the mother’s, 
that the young lady should take advantage of the 
situation, and secure this stray and altogether eligi- 
ble prize. With her quick eyes, she had detected 
his growing fondness for her younger child, and 
thought, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


53 


“ If Clare, with her plainness, can win him, what 
might not Maud do ? ” and the latter she was far 
more anxious to see settled in life. She knew that 
only a rich man would stiit her, and felt that this was 
the one chance to keep her darling near her. As to 
Clare, she believed a far humbler and poorer man, 
could make her just as happy, if she chanced to 
fancy him. That she did fancy Mr. St. George, she 
knew very well; but to do the mother justice, she 
thought that Clare was onty a child, far too young to 
be Mr. St. George’s wife, and that a year or two of 
absence would completely cure her of any such at- 
tachment. 

She wrote to her daughter, stating all the neces- 
sary facts concerning this “brilliant opportunity,” 
as she knew very well that unless she gave her some 
strong motive for coming at that season of the year, 
she could never be induced to do so. The young 
lady was a long time replying; but her mother 
waited patiently, and at last a letter was received, 
announcing her coming. As Mrs. Vivien saw Clare 
and Mr. St. George walk off together, she thought, 

“ I have put everything in readiness for her com- 
ing, and if she does not succeed it will be her own 
fault.” 

As ill luck to his success would have it, that very 
morning Mr. Vivien proposed to his wife that Clare 
should not go away to school, and met with such 
unusual and violent opposition, that after one or two 
fruitless appeals, the poor man yielded, knowing 
well that he was powerless to change her purpose, 


54 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


and feeling a world of yearning sympathy for his 
child. For, although he did not comprehend her 
motive in wishing so intensely to remain, that she 
did wish it was quite enough to make him wish it 
too. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


55 


CHAPTER V. 


A DANGEROUS CIRCE, 


“ A worthless woman; mere cold clay, 
As all false things are; but so fair, 


She takes the breath of men aw%, 
Who gaze upon her unaware.” 


—Mrs. Browning. 


HEN Clare and Mr. St. George entered the 



vv library at Olney Heights, she saw that two 
more portraits had been added to the already large 
number. 

“Those are the pictures I wished you to see,” 
Mr. St. George said, pointing to them. 

She advanced nearer and saw that one of them 
was the portrait of a woman, beautiful and young ; 
more beautiful she thought, than human face could 
be. For a moment, she almost held her breath with 
reverent awe, before this miracle of perfectness; 
then turning to Mr. St. George, asked softly, 

“ Do you think any one could ever have looked 
like that ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” he answered gravely, “ it is a fine 
likeness of my wife.” 

“Your wife,” she said, startled out of all self- 
control; looking first at him and then at the pic- 
tured face, “ I thought it was an artist’s dream.” 

Motionless, she stood gazing at the picture ; all 
her soul shining through her eyes. 


56 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Is my little Clare then, so great a worshiper of 
beauty ? ” he asked gently. 

She did not answer him ; in fact was not aware 
that he had spoken, so utterly was she absorbed, in 
the picture, and the thoughts that it had brought to 
her. Almost unconsciously she murmured, “She was 
so beautiful, so rarely beautiful, that I do not marvel 
that you loved her.” 

There was su^h yearning sadness, in the lumin- 
ous upturned eyes, that he had the wish to take her 
in his arms and comfort her, as he would a sorrow- 
ing child ; although by no means comprehending 
the source of her sorrow. 

“ You have not looked at the other picture,” he 
said; “it is an equally fine likeness of my wife’s 
father.” 

She looked for the first time, and saw the portrait 
of a handsome man, in the prime of life, with grave 
tender eyes, and a mouth sweet as a woman’s. 

“I like his face,” she said, looking at Mr. St. 
George, “ but why is not your own picture there? ” 

“ It seems fittest to me, that I should hang her 
father’s beside hers,” he answered, and a shadow of 
pain darkened his fine eyes. 

Once more, as if from irresistible impulse she 
turned to the face of the lovely woman, “ I have 
thought,” she said at last, “that Maud Tremaine 
was beautiful ; but her beauty is not to be compared 
to this — ” 

“By the way,” Mr. St. George said, being 
reminded of it by the name, “ your mother told me 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


57 


this morning, that your sister would be here to- 
night, and asked me to come over and see her.” 

A cold smile curved the young girl’s perfect lips. 

“You will go of course,” she said, in such a' 
strained unnatural voice, that he was all at sea, as 
to what she could be meaning. 

“ I would be churlish if I did not,” he answered, 
“ and beside, Clare, I shall be only too happy to 
know one so near and dear to you, as a sister.” 

She laughed, a silvery mocking laugh. 

“It is not with me, as with the proverb, ‘ qui 
m’aime, aime mon chien,’ for I shall demand less for 
my sister from one who cares for me, than a per- 
haps better person, has demanded for his dog.” 

She stopped, dismayed at her own bitterness, and 
he was more shocked than she had ever seen him. 

“ You are not like yourself to-day, child ; what is 
the matter ? ” he asked. 

“An evil spirit has entered my soul; I know it 
and feel it, but am powerless to resist,” she answered 
impulsively. 

“ Come then and let me help you to exorcise it.” 
Taking her hand he led her to the piano, placed 
“Mendelssohn’s Hunting Song,” which they had 
been practicing together, before her, and said 
quietly, 

“We will have some music now.” She com- 
menced the accompaniment without a protest, and 
did very well, until she attempted to sing. Twice 
she failed, but each time, he urged her to try again. 
The third time she broke down altogether, and bow- 


58 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


in g her head upon the piano, burst into violent sob- 
bing. 

All the time she had been trying to sing, these 
wild thoughts had been riotihg in her brain: 

“ She was so beautiful and I am so plain, that he 
will never love me ; she is so beautiful that he will 
love her ; O, my God ! why am I not beautiful ? ” 

He was so unprepared for a demonstration like 
this, from one who had seemed always perfectly self- 
possessed, that he scarcely knew what to do. But 
he was deeply sorry for her, feeling that something 
must have occurred to grieve her terribly, as she 
had not been herself all the morning. Going up to 
her he laid his hand on her bowed head and said 
softly, 

“ Tell me what has grieved you, Clare, and let 
me help you bear it. You know, little one, how 
much I love you, and you must know, too, that it 
pains me to see you unhappy.” 

He was bending down very near her, and she 
felt his warm breath on her cheek. The musical 
voice and the tender words had found their way to 
her heart, and were stilling its wild tumults with 
their infinite sweetness. 

“ Oh ! if I only dared tell him,” she said, uncon- 
sciously aloud ; and was surprised to hear him an- 
swer, gently: 

“ With me, dear, you can dare all things.” 

The madness of her desire appalled and filled 
her with shame. 

“How could I ever tell him,” she thought, “that 
I am miserable from the fear that he will never love 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


59 


me, because bis wife was beautiful and I am not ; 
because my sister is beautiful, and I am not.” 

After a few moments’ perfect quiet, she took out 
her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and getting up 
hastily, said : 

“ You must forget my weakness, for there is real- 
ly nothing much the matter.” 

But this assurance did not satisfy him, and he 
drew her to him, and lifting gently the blushing, 
tear-stained face, asked, in the tenderest of voices : 

“ Are you sure that you have told me true, little 
one?” 

Into those clear windows of the soul he could 
not look, or else he might have read its thrilling se- 
cret ; but they were almost closed, and the tremu- 
lous mouth alone bore evidence of her deep emotion. 
A moment or two he held her so, looking fondly and 
intently at the young face, strangely moved and 
thrilled, yet scarcely knowing his own heart or its 
desires, and when she made an effort to free herself, 
let her go with a sigh, not wholly satisfied with 
himself that he did, and, yet, with no feeling suffi- 
ciently well defined to give him pain. 

And so men will often come near to their one 
chance of happiness, and from mere lack of reaching 
forth their hands to grasp it, let it pass from them 
forever, and wander on unsatisfied to the end of 
their days. 

Clare declined to stay to lunch, and insisted up- 
on going home alone, prompted no doubt by some 
newly developed feeling of shyness, and when next 
they met two violet, velvet eyes were looking on ; 


60 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


whose owner, with negligent grace, half reclined 
upon a divan, rolled near the fire for her ladyship’s 
comfort. 

Maud Tremaine had only arrived that afternoon ; 
but she had made for the evening a careful toilet, 
having learned from her mother of the possibility of 
Mr. St. George’s calling. An artist in her own make- 
up, if in nothing else, she knew to a nicety what 
would, and what would not, enhance her really won- 
derful beauty. To-night she affected simple ele- 
gance ; a superbly-fitting black silk, with lace at the 
throat and a knot of bright ribbon. 

As Mr. St. George entered the room and greeted 
the other members of the family, she rose languidly 
to an upright position, and when her mother pre- 
sented him to her, acknowledged the introduction 
with the high-bred grace that is a natural gift to 
some, and is carefully studied by all women of 
fashion. 

Mr. St. George had never thought anything 
about Miss Tremaine, although he had heard often 
of her ; but however much he might have thought, 
he certainly would never have expected to see, in a 
New England farm house, any one like this match- 
lessly radiant woman, having that dazzling perfect- 
ness of face and form and coloring, that filled with 
amazement all who beheld her ; and to this rare love- 
liness she had added every trick and charm, that 
could win man’s worshiping heart. 

Mr. St. George bowed low before her, and for a 
moment, spellbound, stood looking at her, as only a 
few hours before Clare had looked at that other and 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


61 


fairer pictured face. When he took his seat near by 
her, something like a gleam of triumph shot from the 
long violet eyes. 

Clare watched them through the whole evening, 
and thought she had never seen either of them so 
bewitching. They were so grandly beautiful, both 
blondes of the same rare and perfect type. But even 
as she saw and thought this, the young girl felt 
that there, all resemblance ended, and that the spir- 
its which these fair caskets emshvined, were wide as 
the eternal seas apart. 

“Yet he will love her; she wiii^I it, and he 
cannot resist her,” she thought, and felt a great pity 
for the man she loved, a shuddering horror of the 
days to come. 

“ Oh ! God have mercy on both of us,” was the 
silent prayer of her tortured soul. 

It was late when Mr. St. George asked Miss Tre- 
maine if she played or sang. 

“Indifferently well,” the young lady replied. 
“ My sister, Clare, has inherited the musical gifts of 
the family.” 

“You can well spare them, Miss Tremaine,” he 
said, bowing blandly. 

“To one who has nothing else,” Clare added 
icily, as if completing his sentence. 

For the first time he remembered that he had 
spoken only once to her during the evening, and 
with a touch of remorse turned to where she was 
sitting, and said, reproachfully : 

“You know I meant nothing of the kind, Clare ; 


62 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


come, let us have the ‘Flower Song,’ and then I 
will make my adieus.” 

“Not to-night, thank you; I do not care to 
sing,” she answered, coldly. 

“ She is jealous,” thought the worldly wise wo- 
man. “ And, what has been the matter all day with 
my usually light hearted little friend?” thought 
Mr. St. George, who after all these months of inti- 
mate acquaintance, had never once guessed a truth, 
which Miss Tremaine had grappled in a single even- 
ing. 

Once more he turned to the fair woman whose 
loveliness enthralled him, as he had thought no wo- 
man’s beauty could ever do again. All the sorcery 
that she was mistress- of, she brought to bear 
upon him. Once or twice he attempted to go, and 
some witching word or tone, wooed him to remain. 

“ This is madness,” he thought at last, and with 
one appealing glance at Clare, as if for help, tore him- 
self away. 

Through the long night, Harold St. George kept 
a lonely vigil in Olney Heights, and Clare kept one 
in her turret chamber ; sleep came to neither. She 
sorrowed, not only for her own perishing hopes, but 
for the loved one who had started blindfold to his 
doom; and all that was highest and purest in the 
man, battled with that leaven of unrighteousness 
which had marred and wrecked all the years of his 
young manhood. 

“ I will never see her again,” he thought wildly, 
“that fatal beauty would drive me mad; and I will 
sell my soul no more for any face, however fair.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


63 


Then stretching forth his hands, as if he indeed 
sought aid from her, he said aloud, “ Oh ! Clare, 
pure angel, be my guardian spirit, and save me if you 
can.” 

And still another vigil, but not a lonely one, was 
held far into the night ; in which Maud Tremaine 
counseled her mother, that, for the successful matur- 
ing of their plans, it would be best for Clare Vivien 
to go at once. The mother divined her meaning, 
having already, as we have said, an intuition of the 
truth, and assured her that Clare would leave in a 
week or ten days at farthest. 

This point settled, the beauty said complacently, 
“I am glad to find Mr. St. George worthy of my 
best efforts, and it will go hard with me, if I do not 
bring him soon to my feet.” 

“ It will be your own fault, if you do not,” the 
mother answered fondly, and she believed truly that 
it was not in human nature, at least in man’s, to 
long resist that faultless loveliness. 

Warning her daughter of the lateness of the hour, 
she kissed her good night and left her to seek her pil- 
low ; which she did and was soon asleep, troubled 
by no thought of breaking hearts, or remorse that 
her evil genius was triumphing ever, over all that 
was best and brightest in her nature. 


64 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE SHADOWS OF FATE, 


“ He has cast 


His shadow ’twlxt me and the sun . . .let It pass! 
My hate yet may find him! ” 


— Owen Meeedith. 


HEN morning dawned Clare was still miser. 



V V able and awake ; but the sleepless night did 
not prevent her appearing, as usual, at the breakfast 
table ; looking a little paler, that was all. When 
breakfast was over, her mother asked her to go with 
her to her room ; and when they had reached it, 
Mrs. Vivien said : 

“I wish to tell you, my child, that you must be 
ready to leave for school the day after New Year’s. 
I shall take you to New York, myself.” 

Clare almost shrieked, “ Oh ! mother, please let 
me stay. I do not wish to go away.” 

Mrs. Vivien lifted her eyebrows slightly, and 
asked with cold surprise, “ Why this sudden reluct- 
ance to go ? ” 

• Despair lent her boldness, and she answered 
without a change of color : 

“ It is not sudden, mother, believe me ; I have 
asked father if I might stay, and asked him to inter- 
cede with you ; has he said nothing to you ? ” 

“Yes ! he spoke to me, and I answered him, as 
I will now answer you. At the time I have stated, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


65 


you will go ; I know of nothing that will change 
this determination ; since you have so little interest 
in your own advancement, I am compelled to be 
firm. Twice I have yielded to your father’s entrea- 
ties, and left you to his instruction. I now believe 
it would have been better for you, had I sent you to 
school. You would at least know something beside 
climbing trees, and madcap riding. Your sister 
says, that after a whole year’s absence, she can see 
no advancement, or improvement in you ; at your 
age this is dreadful.” 

Into Clare’s dark eyes, there flashed sudden fire, 
and the flush of anger dyed her face. Fierce words 
were on her tongue, but she remembered in time to 
suppress them, that it was her mother’s idol of whom 
she would speak. Knowing that it would be useless 
to make another appeal to her, with an aching heart, 
she went for comfort to her father, and he, unhap- 
pily, was able to give but little. 

He did, however, advise her to enlist Harold St. 
George in her behalf, and ask him to intercede with 
her mother, as he believed Mr. St. George would 
have more influence with her than any one else. 

All day Clare watched for him anxiously. “ He 
had seldom failed to come every day,” she thought, 
and surely he would not fail, now that he had seen 
her” 

Yet come he did not, and through the long day 
and evening, she watched and waited for him in 
vain ; and when morning came once more, thought 
it would bring him. But instead, a note came to 

her from him, saying that he was not very well, and 
E 3* 


66 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


asking her if she would please come over, as little 
Rene was wild to see her. She took the note to her 
father, told him that she was going, and it was not 
long before she made her appearance in the library 
at Olney Heights. 

Mr. St. George was lying full length upon a sofa, 
making an effort to play dominoes with Rene. 

When Clare entered he rose at once, and held 
out his hand, asking, as he looked smilingly down 
at the troubled young face : 

“ Don’t you think I make an interesting invalid?” 

She looked a little incredulous, but said nothing. 
Rene had already greeted the young girl rapturous- 
ly, and then with both tiny arms, clung to her waist. 

“ The truth is, Rene and I could not do without 
our sunbeam any longer ; and we had to have some 
excuse to send for her,” Mr. St. George said pleas- 
antly. 

“ Why then, did you not come and bring her as 
usual ? ” Clare asked, smiling for the first time. 

She saw a subtle something pass over his face ; 
but it was gone instantly, and he replied, in a tone 
somewhat graver than lie had used before : 

“ You know my child that you are not alone now, 
and it would not be quite the same.” 

This was the only allusion he made to the new- 
comer during Clare’s long visit, and she had so great 
a grief at her heart, that she did not marvel at, or 
even think of it. 

The hours passed so swiftly, and pleasantly, that 
her visit had almost come to an end, before she found 
courage to confide her trouble to Mr. St. George, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


67 


and ask his assistance. The knowledge that the day 
was actually set for her to leave, came to him like a 
blow. 

“ I cannot spare you, little one,” he said so earn- 
estly, that knowing nothing of the feeling which un- 
derlaid his words, her heart gave abound of delight. 

“ Certainly I will go to your mother,”' he contin- 
ued, “ and leave nothing unsaid that might gain her 
consent. I will tell her that I will be your father’s 
assistant instructor, and teach you all that I know, 
even to law ; will that do?” he asked playfully, al- 
though in his heart he had very little taste for the 
task he was setting himself, much as he desired 
Clare to remain. For some instinct warned him 
that he would fail to convert Mrs. Vivien, and he 
dreaded to 'bear the news of his defeat to the anx- 
ious, unhappy child. 

“ At any rate I shall make the effort,” he thought, 
“ and if I win, Clare is made happy, and I, by her 
pure and tender friendship, perhaps saved from wild- 
est folly.” 

“I shall not go home with you this afternoon,” 
he said to Clare, who was ready to start, “ but I 
know Rene would like to go.” 

The little girl clapped her hands with rapture at 
the suggestion, and rushed off for Celestine and her 
wraps. 

“ I had no thought of taking an invalid home 
with me,” Clare said, with perceptible amusement 
in her eyes. From the first she had had very little 
faith in his illness, but being so much happier from 


'68 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


having been sent for, could afford to humor the de- 
ception, whatever his motive might be. 

Comprehending her amusement at once, he said, 
“ You do not half believe that I am an invalid, 
Clare, and I am not quite sure that you more than 
half regret the loss of my company.” 

“You have furnished a delightful substitute ; I 
cannot complain,” she answered, smiling into his 
questioning eyes. 

As Rene came in equipped for the walk he said, 
“ I shall be over to see your mother in a day or two, 
and in the meantime if you do not see me, know that 
I have not forgotten.” 

“I will trust you,” she said simply, and bade him 
good-by. 

Rene spent the afternoon with her, and at sunset 
Celestine, and not her father, came to take her 
home. 

“ He is still playing invalid,” Clare thought, won- 
dering not a little at his whim. But when two or 
three more days had passed, and still he had not 
made his appearance, she was not the only one at 
Claremont who was restless and disturbed. Mrs. 
Vivien wondered at his unusual and prolonged ab- 
sence, but beyond all, Miss Tremaine was perplexed 
and dismayed. She had been told that he was a 
daily visitor at the house before her coming. “ Why 
then this sudden cessation of visits ?” she asked her- 
self. 

She had been too long accustomed to reading 
men’s minds and playing upon their sensitive heart- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


69 


strings, to doubt that she had made upon him in that 
one evening, a profound impression. 

“ Is this indifference an acted part ?” she thought, 
“ perchance to elicit my attention. No, no!” She 
could not accept this motive, feeling intuitively that 
it was unworthy of Harold St. George ; and when at 
last he did call and asked for her mother alone, her 
consternation was complete. If she had been living 
anywhere else but in America, she was quite vain 
enough to have believed that he had come to ask 
permission to woo her. As it was, she imagined every 
possible reason for his coming but the right one ; and 
when after an hour Mrs. Vivien entered the room 
with flushed cheeks and flaming eyes, her daughter 
was wholly unprepared for the revelation she made. 

She was so deeply indignant with Mr. St. George 
for his, as she termed it, impertinent interference, 
that it was some moments before she was able to 
give the gist of their interview. When she had done 
so, Maud asked the very pertinent question : “ Do 

you not think, mamma, that this appeal to permit 
Clare to remain at home means something ?” 

“ I confess I am not altogether satisfied with the 
indication ; but worse than this, he told me, that not 
feeling very well a day or two ago, he sent for Clare 
to come to Olney Heights ; she went, and it was 
then, no doubt, that she told Mr. St. George of my 
determination to take her away, and also her own 
bitter opposition to it. He spoke of heir always as 
one speaks of a child, yet I am inclined to give him 
credit for more feeling than he pretends.” 

“ What answer did you give him, mamma ?” 


70 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Why do you ask such a question, Maud ? I 
answered that she must go, of course.” 

“ Did he seem much discomfitted by it?” 

“ Well, yes, I think he did ; I certainly never felt 
more deeply outraged with any one in my life ; but 
I think I succeeded in convincing him that my de- 
cision was unalterable, without offending him.” 

“ That was well,” Miss Tremaine said, and shut 
her small teeth fiercely. 

Up and down the room she walked, again and 
again, as if collecting and concentrating thought ; 
suddenly she stopped before her mother ; there was 
a steely glitter in her almond eyes, and she almost 
hissed, 

“ You wish me to marry this man, mamma?” 

Mrs. Tremaine was surprised at her daughter’s 
manner, but seeing that she expected an answer to 
her interrogative assertion, said : 

“Yes, certainly; I should be glad to see you 
marry him.” 

“ Well, then, I will do it, as I have never before 
done anything to please you, or any one else but 
myself.” And she laughed an uncanny, mocking 
laugh. 

The usually musical voice sounded harsh and dis- 
cordant as she continued, “ I will tell you frankly, 
that when I came I had no such intention ; I thought 
only to make him my victim, his passion the amuse- 
ment of an hour, and then to let him go ; maimed 
and bleeding it is true, but not beyond the healer’s 
art.” 

At this, a cold smile for an instant wreathed her 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


71 


lips, and with growing anger and deeper emphasis 
she added : 

“ But now that he has dared to scorn and insult 
me by feigning an admiration that he did not feel, I 
swear that he shall yet feel for me all that he feigned, 
and more.” 

“ Why do you talk so, child ? You must be mad.” 

“ Oh, no ! I am not mad ; but when I think of the 
puny-faced girl that this man loves, and the false 
and mocking incense that he offered me, it almost 
makes me so.” 

She really believed that Harold St. George loved 
Clare Vivien, and that night when all his soul 
seemed in his eyes, was only playing a part, in pure 
derision of her hitherto unquestioned charms. It 
was not alone her outraged pride that had provoked 
her to such wrath, her vanity was also piqued and 
deeply wounded. In all her past, when she had tried 
to please and conquer, no man had resisted ; and for 
the strength that dared defy her, she hated Harold 
St. George, and woe betide him, if that strength 
came only from a child’s dark eyes. 

Maud Tremaine was not usually demonstrative or 
impulsive, and she had been moved by passion to say 
more th^n she intended ; but she proved her return- 
ing wisdom, by throwing herself upon her mother’s 
bosom and sobbing violently ; thus winning that 
mother’s sympathy and pardon for her unwomanly 
thoughts and words. When Mrs. Vivien left her, it 
was with the feeling that an insult had in truth been 
offered to her darling, and her own disappointment 
in the failure of her well laid scheme, added rancor 


72 - 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


to the bitterness with which she thought of Mr. St. 
George. 

As for him he was feeling desolate and miserable. 
When he reached home after his unsuccessful audi- 
ence with Mrs. Vivien, he shut himself up in his own 
room, out of sight and sound, even of his little Rene. 

“ It will break Clare’s heart,” he thought. “ I 
cannot bear to tell her. She feels so intensely, what- 
ever she feels at all. My poor darling, if she was 
only my own child, how happy I could make her.” 

So deeply he pitied her, that the incongruity of 
his thought did not occur to him. He thought of 
her home, in which, beside her father’s love, there 
was so little felt for her ; and a great yearning came 
into his heart, to lift her far out of her ungenial sur- 
roundings. But there was no feasible way of doing 
this, and he dreaded to see her, knowing well that 
her mother would leave to him the unpleasant task 
of communicating his failure. 

He knew, or thought it probable, that he would 
meet her, as well as Miss Tremaine, on the next 
evening, as at that time a large portion of the people 
of the town and country around were expected to be 
the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Clyde Trafton, who were 
decidedly the most influential people in the neigh- 
borhood, ranking next in wealth to Mr. St. George, 
and certainly far outstripping him in those hospital- 
ities, for which his house had once been famous. 

J udge Trafton was a lawyer, who had filled sev- 
eral public offices with credit to himself, and was 
then and had been for some years, judge of the 
district. His wife was an amiable and cultivated 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


73 


woman, and his son and two daughters quite as 
agreeable and accomplished. 

The entertainment to be given was in honor of 
Miss Agnes, the younger daughters’ eighteenth birth- 
day ; and having been only six months from school, 
she was also to make her dSbut. 

They had been both polite and cordial to Mr. St. 
George since his return, and beside entertaining a 
real regard for them, he felt that etiquette would 
demand his attendance. 

But he could not help shrinking from the neces- 
sity, which he felt assured would bring him once 
more into Maud Tremaine’s too dangerous presence. 

“ I am weak, no doubt,” he thought, “but am I 
not stronger, knowing my weakness so well ? A 
woman’s face once drove me mad, and this one is fair as 
mortal face can be ; yet — , I do not trust her ; why 
then need I fear ? ” 

Ah ; false security ! that had deluded many other 
men, and led them straight to Maud Tremaine’s feet. 


74 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER VII. 

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 

“If to her share some female errors fall, 

Look on her face, and you’ll forget them all.” 

—Pope. 

T HE evening of the party found Clare still anx- 
iously “ waiting for the verdict.” She knew that 
Mr. St. George had seen her mother, but she did not 
know that, to succeed, he could not have chosen a 
more luckless time, nor she a more luckless advocate ; 
for it had served to strengthen Mrs. Vivien’s convic- 
tion of his growing regard for Clare, which only 
added intensity to her resolve. As her mother said 
nothing to her of the interview, she did not like to 
question her ; and she feared the worst, from Mr. 
St. George staying away. 

She cared very little for the entertainment to 
which she was going, and with a bare exception (the 
hope of seeing Mr. St. George) expected a miserable 
evening, so little was her mind, in its unrest, attuned 
to pleasure’s notes. 

Dictated by her own good taste, her dress was 
simple and suited to her years. It was an em- 
broidered muslin, and the waist, which was high at 
the neck, and the sleeves that reached to the elbow, 
were of the softest puffings, embroidery and lace, 
and although quite thin, the arm that was half re- 
vealed was as perfect as if carved from marble. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


75 


Bunches of scarlet verbenas were fastened at her 
throat, on her sleeves, and wherever the overdress 
required looping. In her short, dark hair she twist- 
ed a spray of the flowers, and stood a moment more 
before her mirror, taking in the tout ensemble. 
The dress was becoming and in exquisite taste, from 
the crown of her classic head, to the soles of her 
daintily booted feet, and although she had never 
looked better in her life, she was not satisfied. 

“ He is such a worshiper of beauty, that he will 
never love me,” she thought, and shook her head 
with a rueful sigh. 

At that moment Margaret Hardy came in to see 
her favorite, arrayed for her first party. As she 
approached the young girl, she lifted her hands with 
delighted admiration, and said : 

“ Bless my life, but you do look pretty ; take my 
word, you will charm somebody’s heart away from 
them to-night.” 

“ Ah, my good Margaret, if I could find others as 
partial as you are, then I might,” Clare said, softly, 
laying one fair arm around the faithful woman’s 
neck. Tears dimmed her young eyes. Of their 
source, Margaret was ignorant ; and, in truth, she 
was herself but little wiser. She only knew that 
she had not, and could not escape from the cloud 
which had enveloped her for days. 

Margaret assisted her in putting on her wraps, 
wished her a happy evening, and said “ Goodnight.” 
As she passed from the room, Clare called to her: 

“ You should go and see my sister, she will be 
worth looking at.” 


76 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ No doubt,” Margaret said, with a grunt of dis- 
satisfaction. She did not like Miss Tremaine, hav- 
ing seen much and heard more of her wonderful 
career. Like most women who knew that young 
lady too well, she thought there was something 
uncanny about her beauty, a power that lured men 
to their ruin, even against their wills. 

Oh, senseless superstition ! Maud Tremaine’s 
arts were only those of a mortal woman — beautiful, 
strong-willed, unscrupulous — mercilessly bent on 
her own aims and pleasures, and in her onward and 
desolating career, careless and heedless of the heart- 
wrecks and ruined lives she left behind her. 

When Margaret entered her room, for a moment 
she stood in mute amazement. She had always 
thought Miss Tremaine beautiful; but to-night she 
was more than beautiful — she was dazzling. 

Her mother was putting the last touches to her 
superb toilet. The dress was one of Worth’s most 
exquisite* combinations, of palest blue silk, satin, 
and some diaphanous material of silver and blue. 
Her white arms and shoulders gleamed like polished 
marble ; at each delicate ear blazed a splendid dia- 
mond ; a necklace of the same rare jewels encircled 
her white throat, and a spray of them glittered and 
flashed amid her blonde tresses. These gems were a 
gift from her aunt, while abroad, and were perfectly 
adapted to her wondrous and striking costume. 

Mrs. Vivien looked at her with fond and wonder- 
ing pride, and turning to Margaret, asked what she 
thought of her. 

“Miss Maud is handsomer to-night than I have 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


77 


ever seen her, and I could say no more than that, I 
am sure,” Margaret answered. 

As she turned to leave the room, the mother 
thought of the young daughter, who, unaided and 
alone, had arrayed herself for that first entrance in- 
to society, which, to most young girls, is a charmed 
event, and she asked : 

“Have you seen Clare, Margaret?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How is she looking? ” 

“ And haven’t you seen her ? ” the woman asked, 
with such astonishment, that Mrs. Vivien flushed 
at the implied neglect, and said apologetically : 

“She is young yet, not out, you know, and it 
makes very little difference about her toilet, so that 
it is neat.” 

Without a word, Margaret left the room, feeling 
more indignant with her mistress, than she had in 
all the ten years she had been in her service. 

Mrs. Vivien looked handsome and stately, in 
black velvet and the pearls, wdiich were her hus- 
band’s bridal gift. It had been years since she had 
worn them last, and he looked pleased and gratified 
to see them, when she entered the sitting-room with 
her daughter. Both he and Clare had been waiting 
for them, and outside the gate Joseph Hardy and 
the old-fashioned family carriage were waiting also. 

They had only two miles to drive, and it was not 
long before they made their appearance in Judge 
Trafton’s already well -filled parlors. After the 
usual ceremony of introduction had been gone 
through with, they naturally separated, the young 


78 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


ladies led away by escorts, and the father and 
mother, taking their position among the older 
guests. 

Miss Tremaine flashed upon the company, a 
brilliant apparition from some fairer world. All 
eyes were turned upon her, and as she stood leaning 
upon Mr. Dartmoth’s arm, superb in her matchless 
beauty, she was the center of an admiring throng, 
who pressed eagerly forward, for an introduction, 
or an engagement to dance. This incense was the 
food she lived on, but now it was unsavory; 
for among the throng who gathered near her, 
one face was missing. She knew that Mr. St. 
George was in the room, for she had seen him; at 
first standing apart from the throng, and later saw 
him approach Clare who was with young Mr. Traf- 
ton, bend over her and talk for some minutes, and 
if Mr. Dartmoth who looked such admiration into 
the lovely smiling face, could have seen beneath 
that angel guise, the evil writhing heart, he would 
have turned from her with shuddering disgust. But 
alas ! the mask was far too beautiful not to be im- 
penetrable, and perhaps he would have been able to 
forgive some imperfections in her nature, since she 
had none in either face or form. 

She saw that Percy Dartmoth was handsome and 
distinguished looking, and she had heard, that he 
was the betrothed lover of Judge Trafton’s older 
daughter. These were sufficient reasons for her to 
attempt his conquest. 

“ For the other I will bide my time,” she thought. 

After her first waltz with Mr. Dartmoth, she had 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


79 


little time for thought, for she was always in the 
gayest whirl of the dancers or in the midst of an 
enraptured group. 

Mr. St. George saw her enter the room, and his 
heart thrilled with delight in her beauty ; but also 
with the same vague unrest, he had -felt from the 
first, in her presence. He looked long and earnestly, 
then his gaze wandered to her young sister, and 
rested there contentedly. He did not wait long 
before going to her. 

“ You are looking lovely to-night Clare, some 
fairy godmother must have found you,” he said in a 
low voice, and was amply repaid for the well 
merited compliment, by a pleased happy glance 
from the soul-full eyes. 

He stood chatting pleasantly for some moments, 
with her and Mr. Trafton, then went over to Miss 
Agnes Trafton, to whom he was engaged for the 
next square dance, which was to be the Lancers ; 
in the interval they watched the waltzers go whirl- 
ing past them. 

“Have you observed Miss Tremaine to-night, 
Mr. St. George ? ” Miss Agnes asked. Seeing that 
he hesitated, she added, “ I suppose of course you 
know her.” 

“ Oh, yes ! I know Miss Tremaine, and saw her 
enter the room this evening.” 

“ Have you ever seen any one of womankind 
more radiantly beautiful than she is to-night ? ” the 
young girl asked with enthusiasm. 

“Aye, she is beautiful as a dream,” he murmured 


80 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


almost under his breath, as Maud Tremaine’s white 
arms and splendid jewels flashed near and past him. 

After this, seeming irresistibly impelled to it, he 
watched her almost unceasingly, until he com- 
menced dancing himself. Like one in a dream, he 
answered his bright young partner at random; and 
was glad when the dance was over, that, free from 
all restraint, he might take himself once more in 
hand. He left the crowded room and went out into 
the night, and when he returned, the music of the 
waltz for which he was engaged to Clare, had com- 
menced. He found her, and they were soon float- 
ing off to the music of one of Strauss’ delightful 
waltzes. They danced well together and he enjoyed 
it so thoroughly, that for a time Maud Tremaine’s 
haunting beauty was forgotte'n ; and Clare was so 
happy that she wondered at her mood of an hour 
ago. When the waltz was over, she said in a slightly 
anxious tone, 

“ You have not told me my mother’s answer.” 

“ If you will come over to-morrow at ten, I will 
give you the entire interview,” he said, in a flurried 
way ; and added, after a moment, “ I would go to 
Claremont, but if I did, would probably have no 
opportunity of seeing you alone.” 

“I will be there at ten,” she answered, as a 
gentleman came up to claim her for the next set. 

Mr. St. George wandered across the room to 
where Glen Trafton stood talking to Mrs. Wetherill, 
a near neighbor of the Traftons. They were dis- 
cussing the beauty of the evening, and as he 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


81 


approached them, the lady asked him if he had 
never met Miss Tremaine. 

“Yes, once, in her own home,” he answered, 
quietly. 

“ I have not seen you with her this evening, Mr. 
St. George. Have you, then, no eye for beauty? ” 
she asked, quizzically. 

For all answer he smiled grimly, and shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“ Perhaps Mr. St. George is like myself,” Glen 
Trafton said, “ and thinks it safer to view this brill- 
iant meteor from a distance. But, all jesting 
aside, while I know that she is the most beautiful 
woman I have ever seen, she does not attract me ; 
and I would not give one pure soft glance from 
Clare’s dark eyes, for all this syren’s subtle witch- 
eries.” 

As he spoke, his eyes rested tenderly on the young 
bright face, whose owner’s name he had just men- 
tioned so reverently. 

Harold St. George noted the words and the tone, 
and, with a slight aching at his heart, thought, 
“ And so my little Clare has a lover thus early.” 
He was not much pleased either with Mr. Trafton’s 
frankly expressed opinion of Clare’s sister. “ What 
does this young bigot know of her,” he thought, 
“that he can look down from such superior 
heights ? ” 

“ Your intended brother-in-law seems all devo- 
tion to Miss* Tremaine,” Mrs. Wetherill said, ad- 
dressing Glen Trafton. 

“ Yes, Percy seems to have lost his head,” the 
F 


82 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


gentleman answered (Jryly, and crossed the room to 
where Clare was standing. Soon after they saw 
him dancing with her. 

Mr. St. George then paid his respects to Mr. and 
Mrs. Vivien. He found him cordial as usual, but 
she was icily distant. He talked constrainedly for 
a few moments, and not comprehending the lady’s 
manner, left them, to once more join Clare, and 
soon Mrs. Vivien saw them waltzing past her. But 
it was not long before Mr. St. George brought Clare 
to them, and bowed himself away. 

“ I suppose you are happy to-night, Clare,” Mrs. 
Vivien said, with coldest indignation in her voice, 
“ since you have succeeded in prejudicing Mr. St. 
George so much against your sister, that he has not 
paid her the common civility of speaking to her.” 

The merciless rebuke was to Clare so unexpected, 
that for a time she did not comprehend it; but as 
the words gathered force and meaning, her face 
crimsoned from outraged feeling, and her voice 
sounded haughty as her mother’s, as she replied : 

“ You surely do not mean what you have said. 
The thought is unworthy of my mother. Since my 
sister came, her name has passed neither my lips nor 
his, and he certainly did not seem prejudiced the 
first evening they met.” 

Mr. Vivien being engaged in conversation with a 
gentleman sitting near, had heard none of this, and 
when he turned once more to his wife and daughter, 
it was to see the latter moving off with* Mr. Trafton. 

The first opportunity Clare had of speaking to 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


83 


Mr. St. George, she asked him why he had not 
spoken to her sister during the evening. 

“ Miss Tremaine is the center of such a brilliant 
galaxy of admirers that she could scarcely miss my 
poor efforts to please,’’ he answered, with a shadowy 
smile. 

“ Yet it has been noted and wondered at.” 

“ Do you wish me to speak to her, .little one ?” he 
asked, looking gravely into the innocent eyes. 

“ I would be glad if you would do so,” she 
answered, simply. 

“ Then to please you, Clare, remember that, and 
at your bidding, I will go to her.” 

And without another word he left her, mystified 
and wondering, and walking straight to Miss Tre- 
maine, bowed and asked the pleasure of a waltz. 

“ You come late, Mr. St. George ; I fear my card 
is full,” the lady answered, coldly, glancing down 
at the card as she spoke. 

“ Is there no name of any one there from whom 
I might beg a single waltz ; they having been al- 
ready honored.” 

She shook her head, laughing softly and ironical- 

!y- 

“ Surely you are not engaged for after supper, 
too,” he asked so eagerly that she thought again, 
“ What manner of man can he be, to linger away 
from me through more than half the evening, with 
such apparent indifference, and when he does come, 
sue for a single waltz, as if his very life depended 
upon the obtaining.” 

At her heart, she felt such hot wrath against him 


84 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


that she could have almost annihilated him with a 
glance. But it was not her policy to be even 
rude, and she smiled serenely into his face and ans- 
wered : 

“ Yes, for after supper too, I fear your case is 
hopeless ; unless this gentleman,” turning to Mr. 
Dartmoth, — “ will relinquish to you one of his 
‘ valses.’ ” 

“ Surely you caniiot refuse me, Dartmoth,” Mr. 
St. George said pleadingly. 

“If it is Miss Tremaine’s wish, I will yield my 
claim to you,” that gentleman answered stiffly. 

A few more words of idle pleasantry and they 
separated until after supper, when Mr. St. George 
claimed his waltz. Slowly at first they glided away 
to the music’s softly voluptuous measures ; then 
swifter whirled with the whirling throng, and all 
this time Harold St. George was looking down at 
that upturned, maddening face ; into the darkening 
violet eyes, and at the dewy freshness of that per- 
fect mouth. He knew that his old madness was 
once more stealing over him ; Maud Tremaine felt 
his arms tighten convulsively around her, and she 
smiled languidly and bewitchingly into the passion 
blazing eyes. Round and round they went in that 
wild whirl, until at last her head almost dropped upon 
his shoulder. “ You are weary,” he said softly, “we 
will stop.” 

They waltzed through an open door into a little 
morning room which was unoccupied. 

Still holding her in that fierce clasp, he looked 
down at her, with passionate longing ; and fonder 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


85 


and warmer grew his hold ; nearer and nearer his 
face bent down to hers, until she felt his hot 
breath on her brow ; then with a groan, slowly as if 
palsied, his arms fell from her, and she stood alone ; 
while he sank nerveless on a divan near, and hid his 
face in his hands. 

“ Strange, incomprehensible man,” Miss Tremaine 
said at last, in a low voice ; then more haughtily 
she asked : 

“ Have you meant to mock and insult me ? do 
you act a part, or what do you mean ? ” 

“ I meant no harm to you, believe me, but much 
to myself I fear,” he answered in a sad, constrained 
voice. 

Rising and holding out his hand to her, he said 
frankly, and in a more natural tone : 

“ If I have offended you, pardon me, Miss Tre- 
maine, for in truth I meant no offense.” 

Looking into his eyes, she read such noble sin- 
cerity, that she did not hesitate to take his hand and 
say, as sweetly as none but Maud Tremaine could : 

“ From whatever motive you have acted Mr. St. 
George, believing you to be sincere in what you say, 
I forgive both the motive and the action.” And 
with a last bewildering glance, she vanished through 
the open door. 

He felt enraged with himself, and ashamed to 
h^ve been outdone in generosity by a woman. 

Like one stunned he sat for full five minutes, en- 
during an agony of self-reproach ; then desperately, 
and almost aloud, he said : 

“I cannot trust her, strive as I may; oh, my 


86 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


God ! why hast thou ever made anything so beauti- 
ful for man’s undoing.” 

He lingered only until he had regained compos- 
ure, then sought his host and hostess, said good 
night, and quietly left the house ; when mirth and 
revelry seemed highest. 

Maud Tremaine saw him go, and felt a thrill of 
triumph, as she thought : 

“ He may resist me for a time, but he will be mine 
at last.” 

Clare missed him from the room, and soon grew 
weary of both mirth and music ; and when her father 
proposed going home, assented so eagerly that he 
asked if she had not enjoyed the evening. 

“Oh, yes,” she answered, “ but I am fatigued, 
and think it best to go.” 

All the way home, and even in her dreams, the 
wonder haunted her, why Harold St. George had not 
said good night. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


87 


CHAPTER VIII. 


CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. 


“ What was love then ? Not calm, not secure, scarcely kind ! 
But In one all intensest emotions combined: 

Life and death: pain and rapture: the infinite sense 
Of something immortal, unknown and immense?” 


— Owen Meredith. 



HRISTMAS morning Clare jumped out of bed 


and going to the window, found that it was 
snowing slightly ; but she had no thought of letting 
that prevent her from keeping her engagement; 
and when she went down to breakfast, was ready 
with the exception of her wraps, for her walk to 
Olnev Heights. 

Miss Tremaine did not make her appearance, and 
when Clare told her father and mother of her invi- 
tation to spend the day with Rene, and her desire to 
accept it, she was spared all unpleasant commenting. 

Mrs. Vivien thought it would be useless to de- 
prive her of this pleasure, as she would be so soon 
removed from all possible danger. Christmas was 
no more than any other day at Claremont, there 
being no small children, and no mjdhical visits from 
Santa Claus. 

When Clare reached Olney Heights she found 
the family, servants included, gathered around a 
huge Christmas tree, then in a blaze of glory, with 
its dazzling lights, brilliant hued balls, nick-nacks 


88 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


and toys. There, too, stood the traditional St. Nich- 
olas, with his pack on his back, and his venerable 
beard, fur hat and robes dotted over with snow and 
ashes, as if fresh from his descent through the 
chimney. 

At Clare’s entrance he began unloading ; on the 
tree he hung bon-bons, all kinds of fire crackers and 
numerous toys ; then handed to each one some kind 
of present. 

Clare had wondered at Mr. St. George’s absence, 
but soon recognized him through his disguise, and 
when Rene, in the midst of her excitement, missed 
her father, and called loudly for him to come and 
see what Santa had brought, she could not repress a 
smile. 

Santa Claus’s huge pack was empty at last ; and 
bowing, he put his finger to one side of his nose, 
gave a long, low whistle, and was gone, before any 
one had time to think ; almost as if he had vanished 
into the air. 

It seemed scarcely a moment to Clare, when look- 
ing up from the unopened package in her hand, she 
saw that the servants had gone, and Rene was ex- 
hibiting to her father one of her presents, a gold 
necklace and medallion. 

He walked over to her and asked why she had 
not looked at her present. Then took the package 
from her hand, opened it and displayed a handsome 
Russian leather case, which he handed to her. On 
opening it she was amazed to see an exquisitely 
fashioned necklace and locket ; the latter with her 
monogram formed of large and small diamonds on 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


89 


one side, and the carved monogram on the other. 
“ It has evidently been made to order,” she thought, 
and looking up ruefully, asked : 

“ Why have you given me anything so handsome 
as this ? My own poor gifts seem like nothing to 
me now.” 

“ Nonsense,” he answered; “ I should have been 
glad if I could have thought of anything that would 
have pleased you better.” 

“That would have been impossible,” she replied, 
then stepping outside into the hall, she called to 
him, and asked if he would not assist her in with 
her packages. 

“Annetta brought them over for me,” she said. 

“ I saw Annetta’s and Celestine’s presents ; they 
are very proud of them, and I am sure that whoever 
these are intended for, will be equally so,” he said, 
quizzically, and commenced opening the packages. 
He displayed first a small easy chair, the upholster- 
ing exquisitely embroidered, a tiny pin-cushion and 
mats, and a complete outfit of worsted crochet, for 
Rene’s large doll. All these were for the child, and 
in her delight she kissed Clare again and again. 

He then unwrapped a handsomely upholstered 
foot-rest, and a pair of slippers with his monogram 
on them ; looking very much as if they had been 
made over his own last, which with Annetta’s assist- 
ance they really had been. 

He looked at them a moment in pleased surprise 
and admiration. Whatever had been his expecta- 
tions, she saw that they were more than realized ; 
and this was soothing balm to the wounds of an 
4* 


90 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


overwrought and somewhat morbid depreciation of 
her efforts. 

Turning to her at last, he said, gravely, “ You say 
that by comparison, your presents seem naught; while 
mine did not cost me an hour of trouble, and yours 
bear evidence of days and weeks of labor. Truly there 
is no comparison, and mine is so far on the losing 
side that to bring it up to anything like par value, I 
will show you what the locket contains ; and I hope 
it is not vanity in me to think that it will enhance 
the value of your present.” So saying he opened 
the locket and revealed on one side a truly splendid 
picture of himself, and one of Rene on the other. 

Clare gave a bound of delight. 44 Oh, Mr. St. 
George,” she said, u you could not have given me 
anything that I would have prized so much ; ” and she 
looked down at the faces tenderly. Her sweet mouth 
trembled, and tears of rapture dimmed the dark, lus- 
trous eyes. 

Mr. St. George, who was watching her, thought, 
44 She is very fond of us, the dear, sweet girl,” and 
for the first time that morning the thought came to 
him with keenest pain, of what he must tell her. 

He went up to her then, and closed the locket in 
her hand. “ You can look at that when you cannot 
look at me,” he said with a smile ; and taking them 
from her, he clasped the necklace around her neck, 
saying as he did so, “ Thus I fasten my chains upon 
you, little one, may they be always 4 rosy fetters.’ ” 
Then bending down, he kissed gently the low, broad 
brow. Unheeding the blush which followed his ca- 
ress, and thinking onty to put off the evil moment, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


91 


when she would ask him for her mother’s answer, 
he walked to the piano, opened it, and proposed that 
they should have some music. 

Rene had gone to Celestine with her presents, and 
Clare thought, “ what a fitting time for him to tell 
me what he has promised.” But she did not care 
to show her impatience, and little as she felt inclined 
for music, her heart being burdened with anxious 
doubt, obedient to his wish she went to the piano at 
once, and played the accompaniment, and sang with 
him song after song. 

At last, feeling that she could bear the suspense 
no longer, with the desperate resolve to know the 
worst, she turned to him and asked the question he 
had dreaded so long. 

“ Come with me, dear,” he said, and taking her by 
the hand he led her to a sofa and sat down by her. 

Her heart sank, for she knew intuitively, that it 
was the tenderness of pity that was so manifest in 
him. 

Like one in a dream, she heard him go over all 
the details of his conversation with her mother. 
Very gently he told her the unwelcome news, and 
taking her little cold hands in his, looked down at 
the stormy young face, and read such passionate an- 
guish as filled his own heart with unutterable pain. 

She neither spoke nor moved, but still looked 
into his eyes with that awful despairing gaze. It 
was more than he could bear, and putting his arms 
around her, he drew her gently to him. 

“ Child, child, why do you suffer so ?” he asked. 

She did not answer him, and feeling all the pity 


92 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


for her sorrow that he could have felt had she been 
his own child, more tenderly than he had spoken 
yet, he said : 

“Clare, little one, will you not speak to me? 
Tell me, my darling, why does this thing grieve you 
so much ? ” 

There was a moment’s silence before she answered 
him. 

“ Because I would rather die than leave you,” 
she said at last. 

There was such thrilling intensity in the voice, 
that he looked at her at once, and was startled by 
what he saw. The young face was ablaze with 
emotions, that lifted her far from her childhood, 
and in the dark eyes glowed such passionate love, 
as he had been blind not to see. But it was only a 
moment he saw, for freeing herself quickly from his 
clasp, she stood erect, leaving him bewildered and 
in doubt as to what he had seen. 

“ She is so young, so very young, may it not have 
been the hallucination of my own brain,” he 
thought. 

But, truth or vision, he knew that while life 
lingered, the memory of that look would never pass 
from his mind. 

Clare had walked to the window, and was look- 
ing out sadly at the new-fallen snow, that robed the 
earth with its mantle of white. 

“ I shall have the pleasure of taking you home in 
my new cutter,” Mr. St. George said, approaching 
her, and before she had time to reply, the lunch- 
bell rang and Rene came bounding into the room, as 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


93 


merry as a kitten, making her feel more deeply by 
the contrast her own wretched mood; and she 
resolved, if possible, to throw it off. She was not 
herself aware of how much she had revealed to Mr. 
St. George in her anguish ; but notwithstanding that, 
could not help feeling a little nervous and shy, 
and this, added to the natural sadness from her 
great disappointment, made her anything but 
companionable. 

He was so perfectly frank and unrestrained in 
his manner, so kind and thoughtful for her comfort, 
and talked so brightly of the letters he would write, 
and those he would expect from her, when she was 
away, that she soon regained' a part of her usual 
cheerfulness ; and when she sat fur-robed in the 
handsome sleigh, behind two spirited horses, the 
bells jingling merrily, Rene clapping her little hands 
with delight, and Mr. St. George smiling at her, and 
saying bright, witty things ; in the comfort and 
delight of the moment, she forgot all her troubles, 
and laughed out as joyously as Rene herself. 

Having accomplished this, Mr. St. George felt 
quite satisfied with himself. They took a long ride, 
and when they reached Claremont, it was so late 
that he declined to go in, but told Clare that he 
would be over after dinner, and, if agreeable, take 
all of them a moonlight sleigh ride. 

It was still snowing, but she found a path made 
to the house, and reached it without difficulty ; then 
turning to them, waved a farewell. 

In the evening, true to his word, Mr. St. (xeorge 


94 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


went oyer in his sleigh and took the whole family 
out. 

Miss Tremaine occupied the front seat by his 
side, and was unusually quiet, seeing no doubt, that 
he was so much engaged with his horses, that all the 
battery of her chaims would not impress him. Be- 
side, she knew that there came a time to all, when 
silence was desired, and this time judged her com- 
panion well, and fitted her mood to his. By doing 
so, her silence was more charming than would have 
been the wittiest bon-mots of the wisest woman. 

Without being a genius of any kind, and, in fact, 
incapable of large intellectual growth, she yet had 
that intuitive knowledge of mankind, which served 
her purpose better: With subtle and witching 
power searching men’s hearts, and sounding and 
measuring their foibles and weaknesses. With their 
strength she had naught to do, and cared but little 
for it, believing that with charms like hers to aid her 
oily tongue, it could avail them little. 

It is small wonder, that she already knew the weak- 
ness that had darkened so many hours for the man 
sitting beside her, and without seeing or having faith 
in the true nobleness, and capacity to resist and over- 
come, which, like a vein of rich ore, underlaid what- 
ever was gross or unworthy in his nature, she 
resolved to make that weakness her stepping-stone 
to fortune and to vengeance. For although she 
smiled sweetly into his eyes, she had neither for- 
gotten nor forgiven. 

The night was so beautiful and the horses in such 
perfect training, that it would have been impossible 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


95 


not to enjoy the ride ; and when Mr. St. George 
landed his friends at home, they overwhelmed him 
with thanks for the pleasure he had given them. 

Driving home his thoughts were once more busy 
with Maud Tremaine. “ Can it be that I do her in- 
justice when I shrink from her ? Do I fear her only 
because she was so beautiful? She cannot help my 
madness, even though she inspires it. To night she 
seemed a fair, sweet woman, no lurking devil of co- 
quetry in her eyes ; I will wait and watch her 

from a distance, for I dare not come too near ” 

From the proud beauty, his thoughts wandered 
to the innocent girl, into whose fond, young heart, 
for one brief moment he had looked. “ Could I have 
dreamed,” he thought, “but even if it be true, she 

is so young she will forget — ; and I, alas ! am so 

unworthy of her.” 


4 - 


96 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A LONG FAREWELL. 

“ And the night shall he filled with music, 

And the cares that infest the day, 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 

And as silenUy steal away.” 

—Longfellow. 

F ROM Christmas eve to New Year’s morn, had 
been a gala week to the people of Olney and 
the country around it. All day long and far into the 
night, the music of the merry jingling sleigh bells could 
be heard ; and at different houses, each evening they 
would congregate and with flying feet chase busy 
care into the “ wee sma’ ” hours. Once they met at 
Claremont, and once at Olney Heights ; and both 
Harold St. George and Mr. Vivien proved hosts to 
the manor born. Clare had seen Mr. St. George 
every day, but never alone. Pleasure’s giddy whirl 
had left her so little time for thought, that in those 
last days, to him she seemed, once more, a gay and 
charming child. Listening to her ringing laugh, 
and watching the merry abandon with which she 
entered each new sport, it was not strange that he 
should think. “ Being a child her trouble rests but 
lightly with her, and on the wings of time, must soon 
be borne away.” 

True to his promise to himself, he watched also, 
that dangerously charming woman, before whose 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


97 


shrine, half the men of the town and county, were 
prostrating themselves ; few, having little more 
than the hope of a smile, yet lingering still in her 
train. 

But maddest of all her worshipers seemed Percy 
Dartmoth. Unmindful of the sad-eyed woman, who 
was his promised wife, forgetful of all former vows, or 
if remembering false to them ; enraptured, he hung 
on every word that fell from the siren’s lips, and 
seemed to live truly, only in her presence. And 
she, at first from pure coquetry and the vain glory 
of tormenting another woman, gave him her sweet- 
est smiles, and most alluring glances. When he had 
bolder grown, with inborn tact, she led him still; 
but held him ever at that charmed distance, where 
hoping much, he yet had much to fear. 

Mr. St. George had been looking on, not wholly 
undisturbed, but saved from a possible danger, by 
what seemed to him, the most merciless coquetry ; 
and while he had no great pity for Percy Dartmoth, 
could not find it in his heart, to censure his reckless 
daring, as all the rest of the small world of Olney 
did. 

“That radiant face, which should have been 
bestowed to bless, might win from their allegiance, 
men better far than either Percy Dartmoth or 
myself,” he thought, and therefore would not judge 
him. 

This bright New Year’s day, they kept open 
house at Claremont. In the dining-room a table 
was laden with delicacies, and in the parlor, the 
ladies were ready for their expected friends. Clare 
G 5 


98 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


seemed to have taken up life’s burdens once more, 
and with a dreary look in her eyes, sat drumming 
idly upon the piano. Maud Tremaine was eagerly 
defending herself to her mother, who had been 
reproving her, for her flirtation with Mr. Dartmoth, 
when Mr. St. George who was their first guest, was 
announced. He came in cheerily, shook hands with 
all, and was soon engaged in animated conversation. 

Clare had not moved from her seat, when she 
heard him say, that a few hours before coming over, 
he had received a letter from an old friend and 
client in San Francisco which would necessitate his 
once more leaving home, to be gone several months. 
She was then, all attention, and before she was 
conscious herself of what she was doing, was at his 
side, plying him with questions as to when he would 
go and why. 

“ I will go in a few days,” he answered, smiling 
at her eager interest, “ and my reason for going is, 
that my friend is in delicate health, and has on hand 
a complicated law-suit in which he has much at 
stake. Having been his lawyer before leaving Cali- 
fornia, I am familiar with the intricacy of his busi- 
ness, and of this suit, that has been long pending ; 
and entertaining for him the sincerest friendship, at 
his earnest request I give him my personal advice 
and assistance ; I regard it my duty as well as a 
pleasure to do so.” 

“ And Rene, what will you do with her?” 

“ I shall take her and Celestine with me,” he 
answered gravely, “ and Olney Heights will be as it 
was six months ago, with scarce a footprint left, to 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


99 


mark, that its master has been there.” Then mus- 
ingly he added, “ I never thought to leave her shades 
again, but now it is best perhaps.’’ And looking a 
little wearily at the enchanting woman, who was 
then greeting other guests who had arrived, it 
came to him like an inspiration, that it was the 
workings of Providence in his behalf, to remove 
him from perils, he might be powerless to resist. 

As for Miss Tremaine, she had not been unob- 
servant of his silent scrutiny during the past week, 
and had been well satisfied to wait; believing that 
her spell was working surely and resistlessly. This 
sudden announcement, which threatened the destruc- 
tion of all her hopes, had for a moment stunned her ; 
but she was soon herself again, and not even a 
quiver of the trained eyelids betrayed her agitation. 
She smiled as sweetly and serenely, as if no tumult 
of rage was in her heart. 

Clare had already drained to the dregs, the bitter 
cup of separation, and his going could not make her 
more unhappy than she was already. In fact, she 
was quite human enough, since she could not have 
him, to feel a selfish gratification in the thought, that 
Olney would not have him either. 

Mr. St. George was talking to her father, and for 
the moment she sat quietly thinking. 

“You are looking distrait , this morning, Clare, 
what is the trouble ? ” Glen Trafton asked, approach- 
ing her smilingly. 

“I leave home and all my friends, to-morrow, 
Mr. Trafton ; but I was not aware that I was wear- 
ing my heart upon my sleeve.” 


100 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Why don’t yon finish, Clare, and say, ‘ for daws 
to peck at ? ’ ” he asked, laughingly. 

“ But jesting aside, is this really your last day at 
home?” 

“ For the present yes,” she answered. 

“ Believe me I shall miss you very much,” he 
said, looking tenderly into the dark uplifted eyes. 

She knew that this candid young man never said 
anything he did not mean, and felt grateful to him 
for his appreciation. In fact, her liking for him had 
grown with her growth, having known him from 
childhood ; but as a possible lover, he had never 
presented himself to her mind. 

He was perfectly aware, that she did not dream 
of the passion he concealed, beneath an outward 
calm, but felt that in years she was still a child ; 
and that it would be a crime against youth and 
nature, to disturb her maiden innocence. Alas ! he 
little dreamed, that already a “ thief in the night,” 
had stolen the jewel, for which he watched and 
waited. He did not leave her any more during his 
call, and when he said good-by, she saw the usually 
firm lips tremble, and felt her hand clasped convul- 
sively in his. She wondered a little, but soon, even 
the memory of his unusual emotion, passed from her 
mind. 

When Mr. St. George took leave of Clare, he 
told her that he would be over in the afternoon to 
take her home with him ; as he wished her to say 
good-by to Rene, who was a little ailing and not 
able to be out. “ Beside this,” he added, “ I wish 
you to spend your last afternoon at Olney Heights.”' 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


101 


Of course she did not refuse, and in the afternoon 
as if with one accord, both of them buried all 
thoughts of to-morrow, and entered into Rene’s 
sports with their old time gayety and abandon. 

That evening when they reached Claremont, 
before helping her from the sleigh, he laid his hand 
on hers, and said very tenderly, 

“ Clare, little one, I sifall not see you again for 
months ; but I shall think of you always. I will 
write to you once a week, and shall require the 
same of you, dear. Tell me all your thoughts, my 
child, and while I live you shall never need a 
friend.” Stooping down he kissed her on the pure 
brow and downcast eyes. 

Lower and lower drooped her head, she did not 
reply, and when he lifted her from the sleigh, almost 
flew from his arms to the house. He watched her in 
amazement until she disappeared. 

“ Poor little Clare, this parting from home and 
friends is her first heavy cross,” he thought, “ but 
time will help her to bear it bravely I am sure. 
What a wilful charming child she is ; how I would 
like to have her always near me.” And he sighed 
profoundly, as he started homeward through the 
growing dusk. 

Clare did not stop until she reached her own 
room; once there, she abandoned herself to her 
grief. Yet she was not without hope, for had he 
not said, that he would write, and remember her 
always. 

Growing calmer at last, she took out the locket 
which her dress had concealed ; it was still attached 


102 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


to the necklace, which Mr. St. George had clasped 
around her neck, and for worlds she would not have 
unclasped it. Opening the locket she looked at it 
long, and kissed rapturously the pictured face, which 
through the coming months of absence must be her 
friend and comforter. 

Clare’s parting with her father at the depot, was 
little less bitter than the one with Mr. St. George 
the evening before, but she kept up bravely, 
until the cars were off ; when to her mother’s dis- 
gust, she sobbed uncontrollably. Mrs. Vivien used 
every available argument with the weeping girl, and 
finally restored her to a calmness, that did not again 
forsake her, even when she was left at Madame 
Campinal’s, a stranger among strangers. For she 
was sustained by the resolve, which had been form- 
ing in her heart, to become all that Mr. St. George 
could wish her to be. To become worthy of him. 

Love fired ambition and inspired her dreams; 
and the memory of every tender word that he had 
spoken, thrilled her, as when she, blushing, heard 
them ; and it is little wonder, that the hope of his 
love came to be, the one thing, to her, worth living 
for. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


103 


CHAPTER X. 


CONFUSED IDEALS. 

“ Tel est l’avantage ordinaire 
Qu’ out sur la beaute lea talents: 
Ceux-ci plaisent dans tous lea tempes; 
Celle-la n’a qu’ un temps pour plalre.” 


—Voltaire. 


R. ST. GEORGE was unavoidably detained 



in California long beyond the time he had 
expected to remain ; and it was eleven months from 
the day he left Olney Heights when he again 
reached New York. 

He intended his arrival to be a complete surprise 
to Clare, and in none of his letters had mentioned 
his expectation. Again and again, he had pictured 
in fancy her rapturous greeting ; and when he 
learned that she had gone with a school-friend, 
whose home was in Canada, to pass the holidays 
with her there, was wholly unprepared for the disap- 
pointment ; but resolving to make another effort to 
see her in a few weeks, he left for home. When, 
ten days later, Clare returned to the city and found 
his card, her regret was deep and poignant. She 
wrote him at once a reproachful letter, saying in her 
usual impetuous fashion, that however little he may 
have cared, he had robbed her of a great pleasure. 
This letter both gratified and amused him, and 
although playfully written, by the amount of interest 
it evidenced, certainly flattered his self-love, of 


104 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


which he in common with the rest of mankind had 
a share. 

In these months of absence his young corre- 
spondent had become very dear to him. With fond 
interest he had watched the rapid development of 
her truly brilliant mind ; and although a continent 
had divided them, from her letters he knew her far 
better, than when he left that parting kiss upon her 
brow a year before. She seemed a child to him 
then, and by her undreamed-of capacities alone, 
had grown to be a woman. in his thoughts, capable, 
he felt, of responding to every intellectual craving 
of his nature ; and high-souled, pure and true, he 
knew. 

Beyond all this, with little vanity, he bejieved 
that he could win her for his wife ; and the wish to 
do so had become almost a passion, but not quite. 
While he knew that to the higher and better part of 
him she was all that woman could be, in his instinc- 
tive worship of physical perfection, he had clothed 
her in such ideal beauty, that the fear of disenchant- 
ment was mingled with his desire to see her. But 
believing that with her only, of all the women he 
had ever known, could he find peace and true happi- 
ness, he resolved to go to New York, see her, and 
put his fate in her hands. 

When he replied to her letter, which he did at 
once, he told her of his intended visit ; and without 
saying anything of his hopes or fears, wrote in such 
a way that she was in a state of ecstacy for days. 

Regularly every week letters were exchanged 
between them. Clare’s were often written to both 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


105 


Rene and Mr. St. George, and the child soon came 
to look for them eagerly, and began making plans of 
what they would do when Clare should be once 
more at home. 

Mr. St. George, after making a formal call upon 
all of his neighbors, with the exception of Mr. 
Vivien, saw very little of any of them. 

He went quite often to Claremont, and Mr. 
Vivien, in return, passed more time with him than 
he had ever spent away from his own home. Beside 
these visits, he was much occupied, on account of 
his long absence, with the accumulated business of 
his large estate, having taken the management of it 
into his own hands. 

In this way almost two months passed rapidly 
away, and it was the middle of March when Glen 
Trafton, who was paying him a friendly morning 
visit, asked if Percy Dartmoth was still making a 
fool of himself over Miss Tremaine. 

“I do not know, I am sure. Where is Miss 
Tremaine ? ” he asked, flushing slightly in spite of 
himself. 

Mr. Trafton looked at him aghast. “ How can 
you ask, having been a constant visitor at Clare- 
mont? ’ 

“Nevertheless, I do in all sincerity, having not 
the least idea where the young lady is.” 

“Well, you amaze me! She has been at her 
step-father’s for more than a month, living a very 
retired life, for her, I believe ; but I had no idea 
that you had not met her, again and again.” 


106 


AN IDEAL EANATIC. 


“ It is strange that neither her father nor mother 
have mentioned to me the fact of her being there.” 

“Some freak of hers, you may depend,” the 
young man said, gravely, shaking his head. 

“ You are prejudiced, Glen. I can see no motive 
she could have in concealing her presence from me, 
and I presume it has been an oversight.” 

“ I may be prejudiced,” Mr. Trafton answered ; 
“but Heaven knows I have good reason for being 
so, when I see the wreck she .has made of a man I 
once loved as a brother.” 

“ But is the lady altogether in fault?” Mr. St. 
George asked a little severely. 

“Do you believe that he would follow her so 
madly and persistently if he was utterly without 
hope ? or that any true woman would hold a man to 
the destruction of both reason and intellect, on an 
eternal rack of doubt and torture?” 

“ No, certainly not ! but are you quite sure that 
Miss Tremaine has done this ? She may have long 
since given him an honest, straightforward re- 
" fusal ? ” 

“ I do not believe it, having too much faith in 
Percy Dartmoth’s native good sense, mad as he 
seems now. But I don’t know that he deserves any 
pity from me. At any rate, in his defense I shall 
not take issue with you, old friend,” Glen Trafton 
said, smilingly, as he shook Mr. St. George’s hand 
at parting. 

Maud Tremaine had really been at Claremont 
more than four weeks, and the fact not having been 
mentioned to Mr. St. George, was, as Mr. Trafton 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


107 


suggested, one of her freaks. Having failed with 
him so ingloriously in her first attempt, she resolved 
that this new siege should be upon an entirely dif- 
ferent basis. Her mother was, of course, her willing 
and pliant aid ; and when Mr. Vivien was instructed 
not to mention her name, or the fact of her being 
there, to Mr. St. George, he gave his promise, with- 
out the slightest feeling of self-sacrifice on his part, 
and thinking, too, with a little amusement, that it 
was barely possible he might not have thought to 
do so, even if he had not been warned. He was 
too entirely absorbed in his own pursuits, to ask or 
even think about why the request was made. 

Mr Dartmoth had in truth been a constant 
visitor since Miss Tremaine’s arrival. Sometimes 
she saw him, but oftener excused herself, and yet 
he was not deterred from coming just as persistently. 
Correct as were Mr. Trafton’s first remarks of the 
young lady, in his judgment regarding her treatment 
of Mr. Dartmoth he was certainly somewhat unjust. 
For if she had ever felt or shown mercy or pity for 
any one, it had been Percy Dartmoth. She knew 
well that he loved her as no man living had ever 
loved her, and it would be a heart of stone that this 
truth could not touch. Beside, he was handsome, 
brilliantly gifted, and in every way capable of win- 
ning a woman’s first and highest regard, provided 
always that her heart be disengaged. With Miss 
Tremaine this organ was but poorly developed; 
being always of feeble growth, it had been hardened 
and perverted by her life’s exceptional experiences. 
But if there was in this callous heart one soft or 


108 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


womanly feeling, it was that which she felt for this 
man, who had given up to worship of her , all that 
seemed best and fairest in his life : fame, ambition, 
woman’s love, all lost in this yawning holocaust, and 
still the sacrifice was incomplete. For her sake he 
had neglected friends and every duty that had once 
made him a leader among men, and his name a 
power for weal or woe in the community in which he 
lived. Distinguished from early youth for his unu- 
sual talents, no young lawyer at the bar, had the pro- 
mise of a brighter future. Judge Trafton had known 
him from boyhood, and loved him almost as well as 
his own son. He had seen the boy’s brave father 
fall mortally wounded in the fiercest of the conflict 
at Bull Run, and had borne back his dying message 
to his wife and son. From that time he had felt 
and manifested a deep interest in young Dartmoth’s 
career. When, after a few years, the boy was left 
alone, orphaned indeed, he found both sympathy 
and affection in Judge Trafton’s genial home. The 
growing and mutual attachment .between young 
Dartmoth and his daughter Lilian, the father ob- 
served and encouraged, feeling that although the 
young man had little beside his practice and his 
talent, these alone were a dower he might well be 
proud of in a son-in-law. 

Mr. Dartmoth’s affection for Miss Trafton seemed 
all that she desired, and he was satisfied, having 
known no other. A quiet, undemonstrative engage- 
ment took place, and they were to have been mar- 
ried in a few months, when he met fate in Maud 
Tremaine’s form, and from the first seemed struck 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


109 


with blindness and madness. Following her to New 
York when she returned to her aunt, he remained 
there for weeks, her devoted cavalier ; and when he 
returned, was so moody, so utterly estranged from 
all his former ways of life, that one by one his 
friends deserted him ; not, however, without a 
feeling of pity, believing him to be the victim of a 
woman’s wiles, Through all the long summer, to 
Newport, Saratoga, or wherever his beautiful love 
led the way, he would follow — always and ever her 
most adoring admirer. At last, when in September 
he once more returned home, as no words had passed 
between the betrothed pair since his fatal estrange- 
ment, with outraged feelings Glen Trafton went to 
his sister Lilian, and asked her permission to remon- 
strate with her shameless lover. 

“ Let him alone, my dear brother,” the lady 
answered, sadly; “it is well for me that it was not 
too late. As for him I can but pity him, feeling 
that his punishment will be greater than any we 
could indict.” 

Thus quietly the matter ended, to be no more 
alluded to by any member of the household, and 
soon the pale, quiet face of the saddened woman, 
was their only reminder of what might have been. 

When Maud Tremaine came once more into their 
midst, her arrival had little power to move them 
from this settled calm ; but not so Percy Dartmoth ; 
her coming was unexpected, and he was made 
happy by the hope, wild as it was, that she had 
come to be near him . Again and again she had told 
him that she could never marry him ; but instinct 


110 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


taught him that she cared for him as she did for no 
one else, and this alone kept hope alive. 

Since her arrival he had been a constant visitor 
at Claremont, and left nothing undone that could 
add to her pleasure or comfort. He observed that 
she was changed, a little saddened, or perhaps only 
more quiet. “ But whatever the change, it becomes 
her well,” thought the infatuated lover. 

When six weeks had passed and Miss Tremaine 
had not yet met Mr. St. George, she thought she 
had played her rc>le quite long enough, and resolved 
to let herself be seen, accidentally, of course ; and 
one bright morning, as it chanced, the very day 
after Glen Trafton’s visit to Mr. St. George, she 
took a morning walk. Coming at last to an old 
tree, which grew near the footpath leading from 
Claremont to Olney Heights, she sat down upon its 
gnarled roots, and took naturally the most pictur- 
esque of attitudes. 

When in less than half an hour Mr. St. George 
came up to her, she looked as fair a picture as 
ever gladdened the eyes of man. No wonder he 
stood so reverently before her, looking down at the 
closed eyelids, and dreamy innocent smile upon 
the rare red lips. She was so consummate an actress, 
that for all consciousness of his presence, she might 
indeed have been sleeping. 

“Shall I go and leave her?” he asked himself, 
even while he knew that some power within was 
chaining him resistlessly to tlje spot. 

“ Miss Tremaine,” he said gently, but there was 
no movement. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Ill 


“ Miss Tremaine,” he repeated. 

The lovely eyelids trembled, and at last unclosed. 
Like a startled fawn their owner sat upright, an in- 
stant looked, then hid from him her blushing face, 
with such artless and well feigned confusion, as 
might well have deceived a wiser man. 

“ Miss Tremaine have you no welcome for me 
after these long months of absence ?” he asked, hold- 
ing out his hand. 

“ Do you really care for my welcome ? ” she 
asked, turning to him shyly. 

“ Why should I not?” he answered, looking so 
earnestly at her, that her confusion seemed to grow. 

“ 1 have always thought that you did not like 
me, Mr. St. George, and therefore that my welcome 
would be of little consequence to you,” she said in 
her most musical voice, as she laid her little soft 
hand in his. 

A dark flush rose instantly to his face. 

“ You are mistaken,” he answered huskily, and 
after a pause asked : 

“ Is this the reason you have kept me in ignorance 
of your presence ? Only yesterday I learned that 
you were at Claremont, and was on my way to see 
you, when lo ! a vision stopped me.” 

Looking at him out of the frankest of eyes, she 
answered : 

“ Candidly, it was my reason ; I knew from the 
old time, that your politeness would compel you to 
call for me, once knowing I was there ; and I like 
you too sincerely well, to enjoy being an added dis- 
comfort to you.” 


112 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


For some moments he only looked at her ; in fact 
it was difficult for him to reply, knowing well that 
his strange conduct had given her just grounds for 
thinking as she seemed to. Still holding her hand 
and looking down at her, he said at last. 

“ Since chance has favored me with this meeting, 
shall I sit down by you, or will you go with me to 
Claremont ? ” 

She laughed softly, and answered : 

‘ “ You may sit down by me if you like/' 

Moving a little aside, she motioned him to be 
seated, and having regained her apparently lost 
composure, they were soon conversing amicably and 
almost confidentially. 

She asked him numerous questions concerning 
his long absence ; evinced deep interest in all he had 
to say, and replied to him with such quick in- 
telligence and so much candor and simplicity, that 
he thought, “ how I have wronged this woman;” 
and when at last, in a low, hesitating voice, she 
said : 

“If you do not already dislike me, Mr. St. George, 
dare I hope to make you my friend? I am in sore 
need of one, believe me, for no man has ever been 
that to me ; ” he was tempted to throw himself at 
her feet and swear eternal fealty. There was such 
touching melancholy in her beautiful eyes, and he 
felt, however much she might have erred, that what 
she said, was alas ! too true; and even though the fault 
be with herself, in her too fatal beauty, he pitied her 
none the less, and did not for a moment think, that 
she in common with all women of her kind, was in- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


113 


capable of friendship, and would in truth but lightly 
prize., its most generous offering at her shrine. 

“You do not answer me,” she said at last, seeing 
his moved silence. 

“ Have I asked too much? It was an impulse 
bade me speak,” she continued; “I have been so 
wretchedly desperate of late, feeling that the whole 
world was against me, and wherever I go, the worth- 
less, heartless names of flirt and coquette follow 
me. Even those who love me, when I can not love 
them in return, are more cruel than the world that 
hates me. Oh, I am so weary of it all ! ” 

Clasping her white hands, she looked at him 
appealingly and asked, “ In the wide world is there 
no friend for me, in whose true and generous heart, 
I may find justice or mercy?” Tears dimmed the 
lovely violet eyes, and hung upon the long dark 
lashes. It was too much for the man who listened 
with all his soul, to hear with calmness, and moved 
out of all composure or self-restraint, he answered, 
in a voice whose agitation was music to his listener’s 
ears. 

“ What can I say to you ? for looking at you 
now, I can but fear, that it may be impossible to be 
your friend ; and dare I delude you by promises that 
may prove false, and in the end betray you with a 
passion which may seem unworthy?” 

He was trembling visibly, and his voice sounded 
even to himself unnatural. 

Beneath his burning gaze, her drooping face 
turned red, then pale, and saying with touching 

sadness : 

H 


5 * 


114 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Alas ! it is ever so with me,” she buried it in 
her hands, and wept so bitterly, that conscience- 
stricken and remorseful, he plead to be forgiven. 

“If you will trust me, and forgive my treachery 
if I fail, I will try to be all that you can wish me.” 

Slowly she uncovered her tear-stained face and 
looked up into his. In her eyes he saw the confid- 
ing look of a child, as she reached forth to him both 
little hands and said, oh ! so sweetly : 

“I will trust you, and fear no treachery that I 
cannot forgive.” 

Still looking into his eyes, she smiled, a rarely 
radiant smile ; she was so fair and so beguiling, and 
he was only mortal. Impulses, mad as any he had 
ever felt, were tearing at his heart ; but the memory 
that she had asked for friendship, and wept at 
thought of more, restrained him, and he only bowed 
his head and kissed the hands that lay so unresist- 
ingly in his. 

“That is the seal of our compact,” she said, 
lightly, withdrawing them from his clasp ; and con- 
tinued in her low sweet voice, 

“ If you are not weary and can listen to me a 
little longer, I have something to say to you, my 
friend.” 

“ Say all that is in your heart,” he answered, 
“ and be assured I shall not weary of listening.” 

“In some things my life has been a sad one,” 
she began, “ but I will let that pass. From child- 
hood I have been praised for charms that I have 
come to loathe ; for they have won me only woman’s 
hate, and such love from man as I could not prize. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


115 


Year after year with restless longing I have looked 
in vain, for one firm true friend. I have never 
loved ; no wave of passion has even touched my 
feet; but when I have been kind and merely smiled 
on those who seemed my worshipers, I have been 
branded heartless, false, and utterly unworthy of 
that fairer destiny that comes to happier women. 
Even now, in this very place, by people that you 
know, for the sake of one, who is perhaps worthy 
of any woman’s love (yet has not mine), I am mis- 
judged, condemned, and held in utter horror.” She 
paused an instant, and softly asked, 

“Do you know who I mean, my friend?” 

Being too candid to deny, he answered simply, 
“ Yes ! Mr. Dartmoth I presume.” 

Bowing affirmatively she said, “ Yet Mr. Dart- 
moth himself would tell you, were you to ask him, 
that I had not only, again and again, refused to 
marry him, but had told him quite as often that I 
never could. He is a generous true-hearted man ; I 
like him, but I cannot love him ; and this is my 
crime.” 

As she said this, and looked up at him, there was 
such yearning sadness in her eyes, that he was 
ready to do battle for her with all the world ; and 
he said, looking down at her, with such infinite 
tenderness, that even she felt something like a pang 
of remorse. 

“ Let the world think and say as it may, remem- 
ber always, that you have found one heart which 
will neither doubt nor betray you.” 

“I will remember,” she answered softly, and 


116 


AN IDEAL FANATIC, 


once more thrilled him, with that artless confiding 
look. 

“ I mast go now,” she said, rising. “ Will you 
return with me to lunch ? ” 

“No! thank you, but I will go with you to the 
gate.” 

When they reached it, he said gravely f “ May 
I come to see you soon, or must I owe that happi- 
ness to chance alone ? ” 

“ By no means,” she answered, smiling brightly. 
“ My friend will be at any and all times welcome.” 

Thus he left her with the halo of that radiant 
smile illumining her perfect face ; and as he walked 
away from her, he thought with poignant remorse, 
that he had little right to censure others, since he had 
himself so cruelly misjudged her ; having steeled his 
heart against her he now believed, for no other crime 
than the ideal perfectness he had so long sought 
vainly. Ay ! and no wonder. He sighed pro- 
foundly, as he thought of that too bitter past and a 
face fair as her own. “Yet so utterly different,” he 
said to himself, “for she has a heart to feel and suf- 
fer, and if a man could win her love ” ; there 

was such rapture in the thought, he felt a tingling 
through all his veins ; but he remembered that she 
had asked him for his friendship and no more, and 
fell at once from hope’s Olympean heights. 

Alas! for the dark-eyed girl who even then, with 
fond solicitude, waited and watched for his coming, 
Thoughts of her that day came only to disturb and 
torture him. 


I 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


117 


CHAPTER XI 


FANATICISM. 


“Then by the spirit that doth never leave 
Its amorous dalliance with my lady’s looks, 
Back with redoubled ardor were mine eyes 
Led unto her: and from her radiant smiles, 
When, as I turned me, pleasure so divine 
Did lighten on me, that whatever bait 
Or art or nature in the human flesh, 

Or in its limn’d resemblance can combine 
Through greedy eyes to take the soul withal, 
Were to her beauty nothing.” 


— Dante. 


OUR weeks had passed, since that wayside 



J- meeting, four letters had gone to Clare Vivien, 
each with a long apology for not starting, and still 
farther postponing the time. 

Day after day Mr. St. George had been to Clare- 
mont, and more and more difficult his r 61 e had be- 
come. 

Not so Miss Tremaine, who played her part to 
such perfection, that even her mother was deceived, 
and thought : 

“What caprice can have come to Maud, that she 
treats with such indifference, and holds so long at 
bay, a man, whom she has vowed, shall be her hus- 


band ? ” 


Then the disturbing thought came to the ambi- 
tious mother, that it might be for Percy Dartmoth’s 
sake, she was letting this golden chance pass from 


118 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


her ; and she watched her wilful child more warily 
than ever. 

Blindfold, Mr. St. George had walked straight into 
the trap that had been laid for him ; daily and hourly 
his passion had grown, until he was desperate 
enough to throw off all disguise. Maud Tremaine 
saw it, and knew that her hour of triumph was at 
hand. 

His frequent visits were already the theme of 
gossiping tongues, and people looked askant at 
Percy Dartmoth, and twitted him with his danger- 
ous rival, until, half mad with jealous fear and hope 
deferred, to his idol first he flew for comfort, and if 
she failed him, in the maddening wine-cup buried 
his despair. 

Miss Tremaine was too much occupied with her 
new conquest, to spare very much of her precious 
time to the old ; but she was never anything but 
kind and gentle to him, and he left her always feel- 
ing more bitterness for himself than for her. She 
knew alas! full well, the love she could trust 
longest; “ one loves me,” she thought, “ for being as 
I seem, and the other for being as I am in truth. 
Let me but throw aside this mask, with which 
I have charmed him, and Harold St. George will 
turn from me with loathing ; buffto Percy Dartmoth, 
I have been my own true self, and he loves me, 
faults and all.” 

But this knowledge in no way changed her fixed 
resolve, and when Mr. St. George laid name and for- 
tune at her feet, no thought of Percy Dartmoth or 
his love, prompted her to hesitate. She had reached 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


119 


the goal for which she started, not without some 
trouble ; but then she thought, the prize worthy the 
effort. 

Triumphantly she announced his proposal to her 
mother. 

“ You accepted him of course,” the mother said, 
with eager questioning eyes ; for of late she had 
had little faith that this proposal would ever come, 
or if it did, be met with any favor. 

“ I thought that was understood,” the young lady 
answered coldly, as she left her, reassured but won- 
dering. Straight to her own room Maud Tremaine 
went ; walked up to a toilet mirror and for some 
moments, looked steadily at her own reflection. 

“Wretched, smiling mask, what misery and mad- 
ness you have wrought. Oh! if there be any God 
for such as I, would he not lead me from this deep 
darkness ? ” 

The words came slowly, between her clenched 
teeth ; a moment more she looked, then throwing 
herself across the bed she abandoned herself to her 
misery. Great tearless sobs shook and tortured her; 
she felt so impotent to make her fate; so powerful 
and yet so powerless ; but that mood did not last, 
and an hour after, no one would have dreamed of 
the passion of horror which had passed over her. 

Mr. St. George too went home, not altogether 
happy, for mingled with the feeling that she was his 
at last, came ever the unwelcome thought, “Does 
she love me? she told me that she did, but there is 
a difference, such a difference in one’s ideas of love.” 

This thought so fraught with doubt and fear, 


120 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


disturbed him until they met again ; when he asked 
her to go with him to the old tree, which was their 
first trysting place. He looked down at her very 
tenderly as he made the request, and for the first 
time called her Maud. Blushing slightly, she an- 
swered ! 

“ Certainly, if you wish it.” 

“I do wish it, as I too would like to speak to you 
of my past, and I have the feeling that your heart 
will comprehend mine better there, than here.” 

“I will tell her of my past,” he thought, “and 
she will know at once, why the woman I would 
make my wife, must love me, even as I love.” 

When they were once more seated under the old 
tree, from first to last, he told her the sad story with 
which he had never cared to stain Clare’s pure 
young ears. 

Gently as it was possible, he spoke of the erring 
dead, and laid bare to her his own blighted and 
lonely heart ; its hopes, its aspirations and its cruel 
disappointments : 

She heard him to the end in perfect silence ; and 
even then did not speak, until he said in a tremu- 
lous tone : 

“ You have heard me, darling, and know now all 
that my life has been.” 

“ Yes,” was the low answer. 

“ Can you love me as my heart hopes, and 
demands that you will ? ” he asked with such eager, 
fond entreaty, that if ever she had felt pity for him 
it was then ; knowing well that she did not and 
could never love him ; and knowing too, if he did 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


121 


not, that he was once more the victim of passions 
which had marred his early life. 

“ He loves me for my face and form,” she 
thought, 44 and the heart and mind, that illumines 
and informs them, are his own ideal creations.” 

She paused for one moment. 44 Shall I spare 
him ? poor wretch, he seems to have had misery 
enough.” Thoughts prophetic and tumultuous fol- 
lowed these. 44 He will find solace in another’s 
arms, and that other will be Clare Vivien,” she 
thought ; and her white teeth clenched tightly. 
Again she thought: 44 He is rich, he has all that my 
life is in need of; and why should I care for his 
happiness, having none of my own ?” 

The scales were fast turning to the evil side ; 
and now a pale face and dark tender eyes, looms up 
before her. 

44 1 hate her,” she thought, 44 and I will rivet his 
chains so tightly, that even if he would, he cannot 
throw them off.” 

While these thoughts were passing through her 
mind, he was holding her hand, and looking fondly, 
at the downcast face. She lifted it then, bathed in 
blushes ; some soft emotion trembled on her lips, 
and in her eyes, glowed all the tenderness he sighed 
for. 

44 1 love you even as you wish,” she murmured 
softly, and arch-traitress though she was, a chill of 
terror crept through all her veins. In an instant 
his arms were around her, and he bent down to 
touch her lips: Quickly she drew herself away, 

and said almost haughtily, 44 Not so ! Mr. St. 

6 


122 AN IDEAL FANATIC. 

George, to husband alone Maud Tremaine yields 
her lips.” 

Then seeing his pained look she added gently, 

“ Forgive me, but this has been a principle of my 
life, and if I am not false to it, I love you none the 
less, believe me.” 

She was so lovely, and that pleading voice so 
musically soft, that he was ready to forgive her any- 
thing, and stooping low, he kissed her little hands 
instead ; and said very tenderly : 

“It is I who should say forgive, and not you, 
dearest ; I will try to transgress no more ; but the 
temptation to do so, is greater than you know.” 

She smiled archly as she answered : 

“ You are forgiven, mon cher ; in truth against 
you, I find it difficult to harbor malice.” 

“ May you never have cause, my love. Let us 
talk now, dear, of that future, that I trust and 
believe will bring happiness to both of us.” 

The change from sentiment to practical life, was 
most agreeable to her, and all of the morning that 
was left to them, they devoted to discussing its 
affairs. When he left her they had decided that 
their marriage should take place in the autumn. At 
her request he had promised to keep it a secret, 
until she gave him leave to divulge it. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


123 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE BLIGHT UPON LOVE’S OPENING FLOWER. 


“ And to be wroth with one we love 
Doth work like madness in the brain.” 


—Coleridge. 


LMOST a month passed, and no one but Mr. 



TA- and Mrs. Vivien knew anything of Miss 
Tremaine’s engagement, although of course sur- 
mises were rife, and at last a rumor reached Olney 
Heights. 

Mr. St. George had said nothing to any one there, 
and had written regularly to Clare and said nothing. 
He was not satisfied with himself or his letters, 
feeling that he was not frank ; that he was conceal- 
ing something from her, and by so doing perhaps 
wronging her. At the first he felt no little dis- 
quietude in thinking of Clare and her possible 
attachment for himself ; but he had come to believe, 
that she was still too much a child when she left, to 
entertain a very deep regard for any one ; and tried 
to console, and satisfy his conscience, with the 
reflection, that most probably he would have met 
with disappointment, had he attempted to inspire 
her with warmer feelings. He had promised her in 
one of his letters, that he would go for her in June ; 
at which time she expected to return home, and he 
meant to keep his word ; but he could not help feel- 
ing that he would rather she should know the 


124 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


truth before that time, and determined to ask his 
betrothed’s consent; but he was by no means pre- 
pared for the bitterness it evoked. She refused so 
haughtily and with such evident passion, that he 
listened in amazed silence. 

“ What is it to Clare Vivien ? ” she asked, coldly, 
and as he did not reply, asked again : 

“Do you not know that she hates me?” 

“ You cannot mean what you are saying, Maud. 
Clare Vivien never hated living mortal, and most 
certainly not her sister.” 

This kindly praise of the absent one, so evidently 
meant , inflamed her anger more. 

“Do I not know full well,” she said, with scorn- 
ful emphasis, “ that your first prejudice for me came 
straight from her?” 

“In that, by Heaven, you wrong her,” he 
answered quickly, “for in my presence your name 
never passed her lips in either praise or blame.” 

For a moment she was haughtily silent, and he 
saw that she was but poorly convinced. 

“None the less,” she said^at last, “I know that 
she does not love me, and will certainly love me no 
more, from knowing that you love me.” 

“ I do not believe it, for I have every reason to 
know that she esteems me as a friend ; and I believe 
that the woman I love, even though she were a 
stranger, will share her friendship with me.” 

At this Miss Tremaine laughed, a low, unmusical, 
mocking laugh. She had never before given him 
such cause for indignation ; she was so insolently 
provocative ; for being genuinely angry, for the first 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


125 


time in his presence, she had almost or quite lost 
control of herself. She did not love him, but in her 
heart there was such jealous rage at the absent girl 
who did, that, sister as^she was, feeling neither 
shame nor pity for her, she coldly asked : 

“ Would you have me, Mr. St. George, believe 
you so innocent as not to know that Clare Vivien 
loves you, not as a child but as a woman?” 

The hot blood rushed to his brow, and hot anger 
to his heart. She saw that she had gone too far, but 
what she had said was beyond recall ; and while she 
was conscious of her mistake, she did not dream 
how great it was, and for her pardon trusted too 
blindly to charms that for the first time failed her. 

“ Even if you thought it, how could you bring 
yourself to say a thing like that of an innocent 
girl?” he asked, with indignant emphasis. 

She answered nothing, but listened with down- 
cast eyes and crimson face. - 

“You have pained me more deeply than any 
words of mine can tell you,” he continued, “ and I 
pray you never to repeat by word or action what 
you have said to-night.” 

He had thoroughly aroused her to her danger, 
and she was on her guard at last. Looking up at 
him with a shy, fond smile, she said : 

“ Forgive me, dear, but I have been jealous of 
her always, since I first knew you.” 

She was so fair, and if she loved him as this 
jealousy denoted, he could forgive so much. Soon 
she brought back to his face the old tender smile, 
and wooed him from his discontent with every art 


126 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


that she was mistress of. When at last he left her 
she had little doubt of his entire forgiveness. 

True, he had forgiven her ; but as he walked 
home in the starlight, he was conscious of a vague 
unrest, a shadowy something that was not pain, but 
rather the protest of an unquiet mind. 

“ What she said of Clare can not be true,” he 
thought, and then came the memory of one haunt- 
ing look, which he had never quite forgotten ; and 
his heart was filled with fear for the happiness of 
one who had been always very dear to him. 

“ My poor darling,” be thought, “ I am unworthy 
of your lightest thought, and you will forget me 
soon, if you have not done so already.” 

He did not think this without keen pain, for he 
had formed no life-plan in which she was not to be his 
friend. But now all this was changed, and he felt 
and knew, that if he must see with Maud Tremaine’s 
eyes and feel with her doubting heart, Clare Vivien 
and he could not spend their lives too wide apart. 

He never asked again for permission to write to 
Clare of their betrothal, feeling a strange dread 
of doing so, yet all the time hating himself for 
his deception and concealment, and almost driven 
wild by her tender, confiding letters. 

Slowly his slumbering soul awakened, and while 
the woman he loved seemed no less fair to him, pas- 
sion no longer glorified her frailties. He knew 
that to doubt his happiness was to lose it, and as a 
drowning man will grasp at straws, hugged his tot- 
tering phantom to his breast, in the vain hope of 
warming it back to life and strength. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


127 


He was not the blind adoring lover whom Maud 
Tremaine hoped to find, and she already wearied of 
the part she played. 

“ He is too difficult to please ; I am tired to 
death of him,” she said frankly to her mother, 
after a remonstrance from Mr. St. George against 
her still permitting Percy Dartmoth’s devoted atten- 
tions. 

“ If you are tired now, how do you think it will 
be after marriage, my child?” the mother asked re- 
provingly. 

“ Once mistress of Olney Heights, it matters lit- 
tle whether I please or not,” Miss Tremaine an- 
swered coolly. “ Tired of him as I am,” she con- 
tinued, “ if I could I would shorten the time, between 
this and our marriage day. But as I can not I intend 
to pass at least two months of it where I shall not be 
compelled to look at him.” 

“ What do you mean ?” Mrs. Vivien asked. 

“ I mean that I shall accept my aunt’s invitation 
to accompany her to Washington,” and lifting her 
eyebrows significantly, she continued, “ I shall not 
return until my charming sister does in June. Be 
assured, mamma, I shall not be forgetful of my in- 
terest.” 

“ You are a willful girl and it is useless to advise 
you ; but I think it will be wisest for you to remain 
at home.” 

“ I am sorry, mamma, that you disapprove,” the 
young lady answered airily, “ as I have already 
written to my aunt, saying that she may expect 
me.” 


128 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Have you said anything of this to Mr. St. 
George ? ” 

“No ! certainly not ; I shall tell him the day be- 
fore I leave ; that will be time enough.’’ 

Seeing her mother’s disturbed look, she con- 
tinued : 

“ I am quite sure, mamma, that to go away is the 
very best thing I can do ; for I have already lost 
patience, once or twice when listening to his tire- 
some lectures ; and you have known of old, that my 
one weakness was an ungovernable temper. I am 
in no wise changed, and feel that it will be better 
for both of us, that we part for this brief season.” 

Mrs. Vivien shook her head uneasily, but said 
nothing, knowing that it would be of no avail. The 
next moment Miss Tremaine was called to the parlor 
to see Mr. Dartmoth, who had come more fre- 
quently of late ; sometimes meeting Mr. St. George, 
and when he did, leaving the house with black and 
scowling looks. Mr. St. George was not any more 
pleased at meeting him, and growing rebellious at 
his frequent visits, did not hesitate to express his 
mind to Miss Tremaine. Only the day before this 
conversation with her mother he had said to her : 

“ I do not speak to you in this way, because I am 
jealous, I believe I am not a man to ever be that ; 
for once knowing that I had a successful rival would 
be a death-blow to my love. But it is because I 
regard such trifling, as beneath you, and unworthy 
of the woman I hope to make my wife. You know 
how madly in earnest this man is, and yet you let 
him hope on, in ignorance of the truth.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


129 


“ Have a care, Harold St. George,” she answered 
in hot disdain, “I have borne enough from you al- 
ready, this is too much.” Then bowing her head in 
mock humility, she continued, “ When Mr. Dart- 
moth comes again, I will tell him whose chains I 
wear. He has long known that I will never wear 
his.” 

So it ended and if not satisfied, he was at least, 
ever after silent. 

Rufnors having reached Annetta, which she could 
neither affirm nor deny, she went to Mr. St. George 
and said bluntly, “I have heard, Mr. Harold, that 
you were to marry soon Mrs. Vivien’s daughter, 
and I came to know if it is true.” 

The question was abrupt, but the eyes that were 
looking into his, were so candid and true, that 
he did not attempt to prevaricate, but answered 
gravely : 

“ It is true, Annetta.” Then seeing the look of 
pain and disappointment which swept across her 
face, he asked kindly : 

“ What is it, old friend?” 

Shaking her head ruefully, she answered : 

“ Ay! Mr. Harold, I have hoped so much, that it 
would be the other, my own bonnie lass.” 

“She is a child, Annetta,” he said, his brows 
knitting gloomily. 

“She is not that, but she is over young, no doubt, 
no doubt ” 

She sighed profoundly, and looked up at him so 
earnestly that he colored beneath her gaze. 

“You have the old weakness for a fair face, Mr. 

I 


130 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Harold,” she said at last! “ It has come down to 
you through generations, from father to son, and 
none but beautiful women, ever reigned in Olney 
Heights.” 

“You know Miss Tremaine, Annetta,” he said 
eagerly. x 

“ Oh ! yes, I have seen her often in the past ten 
years. She looks like an angel, but I do not love 
her, as I do my pale, dark-eyed darling.” 

“But you will learn to love her I am sure, An- 
netta.” 

“I hope so,” she answered dryly; and as she 
turned to go, he asked almost appealingly, 

“ Have you no word of congratulation for me, 
Annetta ? ” 

She smiled up at him grimly and said, 

“ Time enough yet, Mr. Harold; they would grow 
cold, before the wedding.” 

When she left him, he felt very much as if he 
had been listening to a wayside sermon. 

“ She is one of the retainers of Olney Heights, 
that my wife will have to win,” he thought, “for 
evidently she does not love her.” 

Not long after this he brought Miss Tremaine to 
the Heights, and Annetta opened for her inspection, 
the long closed rooms, the once splendid drawing- 
room, the large state dining-room, and chamber 
after chamber, all faded and dim with time and 
seeming ghostly with their memories. 

“ You would not care to live amid such deso- 
lation, would you, Maud?” Mr. St. George asked 
tenderly. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


131 


Miss Tremaine shuddered visibly, as she ans- 
wered : 

“ Oh ! no, I could not bear it ; I think I should 
die of horror in such gloom as this.” 

He smiled a little sadly, as he said : 

“ It would not be natural for you to feel as I do, 
dear, but I love the old house so much, that even 
its gloom is dear to me. But,” he continued, “ all 
this shall be changed. At your bidding, love, my 
gloomy home shall be transformed into a bower of 
life and light ; for all that your fancy can suggest, 
or your heart sigh for in a home, I wish you to find 
in Olney Heights.” 

She colored at this knightly homage, and repaid 
him with her sweetest smile. 

“ He is royal in his love,” she thought, even 
though she did not love him and felt a glow of that 
triumph which was to come. 

All the way home she was unusually charming, 
and Mr. St. George was more content with himself 
and his wooing than he had been for many days. 

Their engagement soon became a settled matter 
in the neighborhood, and people no longer discussed 
it as they do fresh gossip. 

At Olney Heights, carpenters, painters and up- 
holsterers, were busily engaged in metamorphosing 
its old time stately grandeur, into gilded splendor 
and artistic beauty. 

“ The temple shall be worthy of its priestess, ” 
the master thought, and to this end, spared neither 
time nor means. In fact since he had found this 


132 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


occupation, he was happier, and felt less keenly, 
the aching of his restless heart. 

It was the last week in May and the day before 
her going, when Maud Tremaine told him first of 
her intended visit. / 

“ Is not your going very sudden ? ” he asked with 
surprise, and some little annoj^ance. 

“Yes !” she answered hesitatingly, “ but I thought 
you would not object, as I will be gone only a few 
weeks.” 

The lovely eyes were looking so pleadingly into 
his, that he could say no less than, 

“ I shall miss you dear, but if the going will give 
you pleasure, I should be the last to bid you stay.” 

After this she was so much elated with her anti- 
cipated pleasure, that she talked of little else. 
Strange inconsistency, that with all her strength 
and tenacity of purpose, she had yet the weakness 
and fondness of a child, for these small, selfish 
gratifications. 

It had not been a happy visit to Mr. St. George, 
and when he asked if she and her mother could not 
return with him to Olney Heights, Miss Tremaine 
also felt relieved. He wished them to make some 
suggestion as to changes that were being made. 
When they entered the house Rene met them with 
a bright face, saying, as she held it up in her hand : 

“ See, papa ! I have a letter from my old darling, 
all to myself, and she says that I must answer it 
with my own little hands.” 

“ Who does she mean ? ” Miss Tremaine asked a 
little coldly. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


133 


Blushing in spite of all his efforts to the con- 
trary, Mr. St. George replied simply, 

“ Clare Vivien. ” 

“Ah!” the young lady’s lip curled slightly, 
“ that reminds me ; I give you now my permission 
to inform my sister of our engagement ; she will 
hear it from others, and it may possibly be better for 
her to learn it first from yourself.” 

He bowed, feeling grateful for the considerate 
thought, nor little dreamed that this privilege had 
been granted to him, only, that his hand and no 
other, should give the fatal stab. 

In the evening he made his farewell visit, and 
found Mr. Dartmoth and several others making 
theirs also. He had opportunity for very few words, 
with Miss Tremaine ; and left early, feeling dissatis- 
fied with both her and himself ; as alas ! he had too 
often done of late. 

A day or two passed before he wrote to Clare. 
When he read the letter over he thought, 

“ If this were written to one who loved me, it 
would seem a cruel letter ; but then Clare loves me, 
only as a friend, a brother, and she will rejoice at 
my happiness. Happiness, oh, my God ! am I 
happy ? or am I once more mocking and deluding 
myself, a§ I sometimes fear ?” 

“ This is insanity,” he said aloud, and folding 
the letter, directed it hastily. 

He had been so tempted to destroy it that he did 
not stop now, until it was in the mail. 

“ If Maud had only never put this cruel thought 


184 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


in my brain,” he thought. “ I know it is nonsense, 
but find it hard to banish.” 

When he slept it was to dream, not of Maud 
Tremaine ; but of the young dark-eyed sister, whose 
pure heart she had so ruthlessly unveiled. Some- 
times with wildly outstretched arms, she called aloud 
to him, to save her from engulfing waters ; and, 
again she seemed his guardian angel, protecting him 
from untold horrors. To awaken from dreams 
like these, without depression, would have been 
impossible ; and in no enviable frame of mind, Mr. 
St. George anxiously awaited Clare Vivien’s reply 
to his letter. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


135 


CHAPTER XIII 


DEATH PASSES NEAB 


“There are loves In man’s life for which time can renew 
All that time may destroy. Lives there are, tho’ in love, 
Which cling to one faith, and die with it; nor move, 

Tho’ earthquakes may shatter the shrine. 


Whence or how 


Love laid claim to this young life, it matters not now.” 


—Owen Meredith. 


OUR or five days after writing to Clare, Mr. St. 



-L George went over to Claremont, and entering 
unannounced, found Mr. Vivien overwhelmed with 
grief, and sobbing like a child. An open letter lay 
before him ; and without a word Mr. St. George 
seized it, and read with wildly dilating eyes, and 
throbbing heart, 

My Dear Friends: — 

It is my painful duty to announce to you, the sudden 
and terrible illness of your daughter. For the past twelve 
hours, she has been unconscious, and delirious. On Tuesday, I 
was called to her room, by a loud heart-rending shriek. When I 
entered, she was lying insensible on the floor : I called for aid, and 
it was some time before she was restored to consciousness ; then, 
I observed for the first time an open letter, lying near where she 
had fallen, I picked it up and handed it to her, as she lay upon 
the sofa. She looked at it for a moment, with wide open, stony, 
eyes, then slowly, piece by piece, tore it into minutest fragments. 
She was then perfectly conscious, for when I took the pieces and 
threw them into the waste-basket, she thanked me. But no other 
word passed her lips; and very soon after fever set in, and grew 
higher and higher, until at last she became delirious, and remains 
so still. Of what that letter contained, I of course know nothing; 


136 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


but that she has had some terrible heart grief, I am quite sure. I 
advise you to come at once, In the mean time, with the help of 
God we will use every effort to save her. 

Very truly your friend, 

Adele Campinal. 

When he finished the letter still holding it in his 
trembling hand, he looked down at the stricken 
father, who was staring up at him in dumb and 
hopeless misery. 

“ I had no right to read it,” he said, in a broken, 
quivering voice, “but I feared so much, that I 
dared not ask.” 

Then laying his hand gently, upon Mr. Vivien’s 
shoulder, he said : 

“Do not despair my friend, while there is life 
there is hope ; and Clare is very young. You will 
of course go to her at once, and her mother also ; 
but where is she ? ” 

As he spoke Mrs. Vivien who had been to 
Olney, entered the room. Seeing their unusual 
manner, she asked anxiously : 

“ What is the matter ? ” 

Mr. St. George, handed her the letter in silence. 
When she had read it, the conscience stricken 
mother moaned aloud : 

“ Oh ! my poor murdered child.” 

She knew at once, as Mr. St. George had known 
before her, what fatal news had reached her. The 
father alone was innocent and ignorant of it, and 
while he loved her more than either of the others, 
from having no torturing remorse, his grief was less 
acute. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


137 


“ I will go home now, and make my arrangements 
to accompany yon to New York,” Mr. St. George 
said when leaving them. 

“ That is kind of you, Harold, and it is like you,” 
Mr. Vivien replied, holding out his hand, which the 
other silently pressed. 

When Mr. St. George reached home he sent for 
Annetta and told her the painful news. 

“Oh, my poor bairn, my own darling,” the 
woman shrieked, “ she will die, I know she will die, 
and Annetta will see her no more ! Oh, my God, 
have mercy ; she is so young to die ! ” and swaying 
to and fro, she hid her face in her white apron and 
sobbed violently. 

Mr. St. George, for a moment, looked on in 
grave silence, but at last said a little sternly : 

“ Annetta, this will not do ; lam already half- 
crazed with grief ; have some pity for me, and listen 
to what I have to say.” After a pause, he con- 
tinued : 

“I shall leave this afternoon for New York, and 

will remain there until she is better, or .” 

Strong man as he was, a choking sob welled up 
from the depths of his heart, and he did not com- 
plete the sentence. 

Again there was a pause, and Annetta’s sobs 
alone disturbed the silence. 

“ I leave my child and everything else in your 
care,” Mr. St. George said, with emotion. 

“ When I am gone, and not until then, tell the 
other members of my household why I have gone.” 


6 * 


133 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Then he turned and left the room to make his hasty 
preparations for departure. 

After lunch, he took Rene in his arms, kissed 
her again and again, told her that he was going to 
leave her for a little while, and asked her to pray for 
him, and for her darling Clare. This was all he told 
her, and the little girl did not dream that her loved 
one, in that far city, was lying nigh unto death. 

It was the morning after Mr. Vivien’s arrival in 
New York, and as the doctor came out of the sick 
room, he asked in a despairing, anguished voice : 

“Is there no hope?” 

“ Yes, there is hope, but it is better, my dear sir, 
to be prepared for the worst.” 

They were at Madame Campinal’s, in a small 
parlor or sitting-room that opened into Clare’s bed- 
room. Mr. St. George was present also. He was 
sitting with his arms resting upon a table and his 
head bowed upon them. Through the long, terrible 
night he had been there, almost in that same posi- 
tion. He had had no breakfast, and cared for none. 
He did not hear what they were saying, in fact he 
had no ears for anything but that mournful wailing 
voice, which, through the closed doors, came to him 
so distinctly. Sometimes she seemed a child once 
more, and talked of home and those innocent de- 
lights which only children know; but growing 
wilder, her grief seemed uppermost, and he heard 
her almost shrieking out : 

“ Save him, oh, my God, my beloved, my beloved. 
I tried to save him ; save him, oh, my God.” Then 
lower, but more touching still : 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


139 


“ My darling, oh, my darling, he never loved me ! 
no, no, he never loved me ! and I am so tired, so 
tired ; pity me, kind Father, and let me die ! ” and 
with a low moan she was silent. Over and over 
again he had heard this, until his heart was torn 
with anguish. Feeling desperate, he got up with 
the determination of leaving the room, when Mr. 
Vivien motioned him to approach them. Seeing his 
haggard face, Mr. Vivien said, anxiously, “ You are 
ill, are you not, Harold ? ” 

“ I am not very well,” he answered, in a choked 
voice. 

“ You need fresh air and your breakfast, if I mis- 
take not,” the doctor said, looking at him intently ; 
and added : 

“ You are a relative, I presume.” 

“No ! not a relative,” Mr. Vivien answered, “but 
a dear friend, and God willing he will soon be my 
son-in-law.” 

“Ah! he is then engaged to Miss Vivien.” 

“ Oh ! no, to my step-daughter, Miss Tremaine.” 

The doctor looked long at the pale handsome 
man, who seemed suffering so terribly, and thought, 

“ This is deep grief for a sister-in-law.” Then 
turning to Mr. Vivien he said : 

“ In the next twenty-four hours we may expect 
a change ; let us hope by God’s mercy it may be for 
the better. I shall return in two hours ; good morn- 
ing.” 

“I will go in to my child now, Harold, and you 
go to your breakfast, or you will be really ill,” Mr. 
Vivien said kindly. 


140 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Of the two he was showing the greater fortitude, 
in these fearful hours. 

When Harold St. George staggered out into the 
sunlight, he was compelled to call a carriage, as he 
was unable to walk, even the few squares to his 
hotel. 

For the next twelve hours there was little change 
in Clare’s condition ; gradually she sank into a stupor 
from which it was difficult to arouse her, even to 
take medicine. Her father and mother seldom left 
her bedside, and Mr.' St. George sat alone in the 
outer room, listening eagerly to every sound, and 
watching with mute inquiry, those who passed in 
and out so noiselessly. Each time the doctor had 
come out, he had answered that appealing look with 
the same words : 

“ There is no change.” 

But when the twenty-four hours had almost 
passed, Dr. Downing as he left, went up to where Mr. 
St. George was sitting almost stupified with grief, 
and laying his hand upon the bowed head, said in 
a cheering voice : 

“There is some change for the better, and I have 
a hope that my patient will live.” 

“May God bless you for this hope,” Mr. St. 
George said fervently and with such a light upon 
his face, as had not been there for days. Then 
grasping in his, the doctor’s hand, he continued : 

“ If our darling is spared to us, I feel that we 
will owe her life to }^our skill and untiring care.” 

“ My patient is in the hands of God, I am but 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


141 


his humble instrument,” the doctor answered rever- 
ently, as he left him. 

After this Clare grew rapidly better, and before 
another day was ended, the doctor pronounced the 
danger passed. 

Very soon she recognized her father and mother; 
and almost as swiftly as she had gone down into the 
deep dark waters, she came back once more to life 
and strength. 

In two weeks from the beginning of her sudden 
illness, she was able to sit up and even to walk across 
the room. 

She asked no questions, except if she had been 
long ill, and if her parents were sent for. 

Both father and mother watched her narrowly, 
and were not satisfied with the weary, hopeless look, 
she brought back to convalescence. 

Never in her life had Clare received such care 
and affection from her mother; and she was, deeply 
touched by it. Poor woman, she would almost have 
given her life, to take from those young tender 
eyes, that dreariness of despair. 

By Mr. St. George’s request no one had told 
Clare of his presence in New York ; but one morn- 
ing when she was feeling better and stronger than 
usual, Mr. Vivien said : 

“My child Mr. St. George is here, and would like 
very much to see you, if you think you are able.” 

“I can not see him father,” she answered with 
agitation, “do not ask me to see any one, for I 
can not, oh ! I can not.” 

“ My dear, you know I will not insist upon your 


142 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


seeing any one that you do not wish to ; but I hope 
you will see Harold, he has been so very kind. Com- 
ing with us to New York, he has watched and 
suffered as we have ; sorrowing at your illness, and 
rejoicing at your recovery, as if he were indeed one 
of us.” 

All the time he had been speaking her eyes 
were dilating wider and wider with some unspoken 
terror. At last she gasped out : ; 

“ Was he here, in the room ?” 

“ Oh ! no, he never saw you, but he passed the 
greater part of the time in the next room. You are 
exhausting yourself, my child,” he said, seeing her 
unusual excitement. 

“Was I delirious with my fever?” she asked with 
forced calmness. 

“Yes, you were quite delirious for a little 
while?” 

“ Did I say strange things,” she asked, wild ex- 
citement in both voice and manner. 

With fond intuition he read her heart, and an- 
swered gently, 

“ You thought that you were a little child, and 
talked to me, oh, so sweetly, of a long-gone happy 
past.” 

“ Is that all ? ” she asked again, eagerly. 

“ All that we could comprehend,” he replied ; 
and if this slight prevarication was recorded against 
him, some pitying angel will surely blot it out. 

“ Thank God ! ” she murmured softly, and, feel- 
ing faint, leaned back for support. Then, with a 
sweet, sad smile she said: 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


143 


“ I am sorry, father, but I would rather not see 
any one. Thank Mr. St. George for all his kind- 
ness to me.” 

Sadly disappointed, Mr. Vivien left his daughter, 
and went out to where Mr. St. George was waiting 
impatiently for her answer. He was to leave in the 
afternoon, and desired so much to see her before 
going. 

As Mr. Vivien entered, he feared from his man- 
ner all that he learned later. 

“ 1 am sorry,” Mr. Vivien said at once, “ but she 
seems unwilling to see any one.” 

Then sinking into the nearest chair, he groaned 
aloud : 

“ Oh, Harold, how could this great sorrow come 
to my child, and I not know of it ? ” 

“ Do you know her grief ?” Mr. St. George asked, 
with haggard eyes and trembling lips. 

“ I know no more than I have known for days ; 
but some instinct tells me that her heart is broken,” 
the father answered, drearily. 

Up and down the room walked Mr. St. George, 
with quick and restless tread. At last, stopping 
beside his friend, he laid his hand tenderly upon his 
head, and said in a low, hushed voice : 

“I pity you, Chester, even as I pity myself.” 

Mr. Vivien looked up at his friend, a vague 
wonder in his eyes, but only said : 

“ She told me to thank you, Harold, for all your 
kindness to her.” 

“ May Heaven bless and restore her to perfect 
peace,” Mr. St. George answered, fervently. 


144 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“I must be going now, Chester; you will bring 
her home with you, of course? ” 

“ I think so,” Mr. Vivien answered, and with a 
long, warm hand shake they parted. 

In a short time after Mr. St. George’s departure, 
a lovely basket of flowers came to the invalid. 
Rarest roses, and all those sweet-scented flowers that 
she loved most. How well her heart told her whose 
offering it was, and for the first time since that cruel 
letter reached her, she wept bitterly and unrestrain- 
edly, as she thought : 

“ He does not know the cruel misery he has 
doomed me to, and, God helping me, he never shall. 
He was so kind, oh, so fatally kind, that I hoped he 
would some day love me. Lulled to a false security, 
I did not fear that beguiling face, nor dream that 
she could win a thought from him, so much he 
seemed to fear and shun her. Ah, kind Heaven, 
have pity and help me to forget.” 

As time passed she grew more cheerful, and 
whether assumed or real, it comforted both parents’ 
hearts, and when the doctor pronounced her per- 
fectly able to make the journey, they proposed going 
home to her ; but she insisted so persistently upon 
remaining, that in two weeks after Mr. St. George 
took leave of them, although not quite satisfied to 
do so, they returned home without her. Once more 
committing her to Madame Campinal’s care, they 
had the lady’s promise to write, should Clare have 
even the slightest relapse. 

The motive she gave her father and mother for 
wishing to remain beyond the usual school term, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


145 


was that she might make up the time she had lost 
in her music, and complete one or two unfinished 
studies ; but there was a deeper motive than this 
underlying her desire to remain. 

They gave their consent reluctantly, feeling that 
she was utterly unable to pursue any branch of 
study, but with the hope that she would soon weary 
of it and realize the truth of their convictions, they 
bid her a tender good-by. 


K T 


146 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE COURAGE OF DESPAIR. 

“ Why should we faint and fear to live alone. 

Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die. 
Not even the tenderest heart and next our own, 
Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh ” 


— Keble. 


T Olney Heights, in the past two months, 



-L\. marvelous changes had been wrought, both 
within and without the grand old house. 

The wild, overgrown, picturesque grounds, that 
had been Clare Vivien’s delight from childhood, 
were now the boast and pride of a landscape 
gardener. Beds of rarest exotics and brilliant hued 
colius were scattered everywhere ; the grass grown 
walks, were newly graveled ; and even the trunks 
of the old trees, were wreathed with flowering 
vines ; but great as the change was here, within it 
was greater far. The grand salon, dining hall, 
morning room, and my lady’s boudoir, were already 
completed, and were a blaze of splendor, with their 
lovely frescoing, mirrors, rich hangings and uphol- 
stery. In the vast house one place alone, remained 
untouched ; and that seemed set apart and sacred 
to the master. It was the room which had been a 
home to him, since his return ; where he had passed 
so many happy hours, with Clare, and his child, 
and where generations of St. Georges, from the old 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


147 


wainscoted walls, looked down upon their last 
descendants. 

The proud beauty, who was the destined mistress 
of all this splendor, although but a few days at 
home, had been to Olney Heights, and set the seal 
of her approbation, upon its almost miraculous 
changes. 

“ It is a home worthy of a princess,” she 
thought, “ and to be mistress here, who would not 
sell both heart and conscience. Yet for one mad 
moment, I hesitated, and would have let the golden 
sceptre pass.” 

Then visions of her coming triumphs passed 
rapidly through her mind, and he who was to place 
the crown upon her brow and the sceptre in her 
hand, was least of all in the kingdom of her thoughts. 

Miss Tremaine heard of her sister’s dangerous 
illness, from both Mr. St. George and her mother ; 
and excused herself from going to New York, with 
the plea that she could do Clare no possible good, 
and to look on suffering always pained and unnerved 
her. Mr. St. George was shocked at this cold- 
blooded selfishness, in the woman he had chosen 
from all the world ; but when once more in the 
glamor of her presence, she greeted him with such 
warm affection, listened with eager interest to every 
detail of her sister’s almost fatal illness, spoke so 
sorrowfully of poor dear Clare, and looked so beau- 
tiful, that he tried hard to both forgive and forget ; 
but there still lingered a fear, that her fairness hid 
from him a cold unfeeling heart. 

Fly from the conviction as he might, he was 


148 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


unhappy ; and surely the misery he had brought to 
one young heart, and the worse than misery, of his 
doubts and fears of the other, were enough to make 
him so. 

He felt himself to be growing daily more morose, 
and saw Maud Tremaine’s only half concealed 
resentment of it, yet seemed powerless to change 
his mood. 

“ I shall hate him soon ! ” that young lady said 
one evening to her mother after she had been play- 
ing the high-handed tyrant with her lover. 

“ Beware my child,’’ Mrs. Vivien said, in a warn- 
ing voice, “experience has taught me, that only 
when men feel our chains, do they attempt to throw 
them off. Let yours be of roses, my dear, for unless 
I mistake him much, Harold St. George will wear 
no other.” 

“ I have no fear,” Miss Tremaine answered, with 
insolent hauteur, strong in her conscious beauty, 
and his manifested weakness. 

But notwithstanding this assurance, Mrs. Vivien 
carried an anxious heart. “ What if all my schem- 
ing should come to naught,” she said to herself, 
and then a memory of Clare’s haunting mournful 
eyes, came to her, and she felt that her punishment 
would be just. 

Mr. Vivien since his return from New York, had 
been so much occupied with his invention, which he 
was about to patent, that he had little time for any- 
thing else ; but that little he devoted to answering 
Clare’s fond tender letters. He was growing far 
happier about her, as she wrote as cheerfully as of 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


149 


old, and spoke always of her improving health and 
strength. 

It was the last of July, when he wrote that he 
thought she had best come home, as he had done 
without her quite as long as he could, and received 
for answer a letter that drove him half mad. Its 
substance was, that after long and due deliberation, 
she had decided, provided he did not positively for- 
bid, to prepare herself for the lyric stage ; feeling 
that her life to be a happy must be an active one. 

“ I have been advised to attempt it,” she wrote, 
“ and good judges encourage me to believe I can suc- 
ceed. To this end I have been devoting all my 
energies. I fear, my dear father, that at the first 
you will be deeply prejudiced against the step I 
wish to take ; but I am confident that after you 
have given the subject sufficient thought, you will 
think as I do. Much as I love you, I feel that my 
old life at Olney would be insupportable ; and be- 
sides I know that I could see you and be with you 
quite as much, for it is my dream, that one day my 
father may be with me always, and feel no shame, 
although I be upon the stage, in knowing me his 
child. I leave to you, my dear father, the task of 
breaking this news to my mother, knowing well, 
that your kind heart will prompt you to a wiser 
method than any I can use. If this letter pains 
you, as I fear, dear father, forgive me.” She said 
but little else, and asked a speedy reply. 

Mr. Vivien was too profoundly agitated to write, 
and he knew not where to turn for comfort. Once 


150 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


more memories of that fearful illness came back to 
him, and he thought : 

“ The same heart trouble that almost took her 
life, is driving her to this rashness ! ” 

Days passed of anxious doubt and thought, be- 
fore he answered. He had not told his wife, hop- 
ing to be able to convert Clare from her wish and 
purpose, without her mother ever knowing that she 
had even entertained it. He was now so thoroughly 
aroused, so intensely absorbed, in interest for his 
daughter, that all else was forgotten, and he 
awaited her reply to his letter, withsa disturbed and 
restless heart. Instinct told Jiim with what tenacity 
she would cling to her purpose, and when her letter 
came, it pained, but surprised him not at all. 
It was really, from first to last, one tender passion- 
ate appeal. He felt it to be such, and suffered all 
the more keenly, from knowing so well, the pain 
which the only answer he could give her would in- 
flict. She painted so fair a picture of those days to 
come, when they would be together, that one less 
wedded to his precepts and his faiths, would have 
been tempted to relent. But to Chester Vivien 
these sweet fancies, were only an added misery ; 
feeling that they could have no realization. He 
pitied her so profoundly, and loved her so tenderly ; 
but this thing which she desired, seemed in his 
thoughts little less than madness. Once more he 
wrote, consulting no one, more urgently and per- 
emptorily, and asking her to name the day when she 
would return. 

In reply, she wrote him a desperate despairing 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


151 


appeal ; ending with, “ if you love me, you will not 
wish to deprive me of my only hope of happiness ; 
for all that other women hope to find in love and 
marriage, I must find in my art.” 

This letter was too much for him to bear alone ; 
he felt that she had gone beyond his powers of 
argument. % 

“ I will see Harold,” he thought. “ He once had 
influence with her, and he must write to her. He 
will know how to say so well, much that I have 
left unsaid.” 

Acting upon this thought, it was not long before, 
almost beside himself, he was ushered into the library 
at Olney Heights. Mr. St. George was at his desk, 
deeply engrossed with books and papers. As his 
friend entered he greeted him pleasantly, asked him 
to be seated, and sat down near him. 

Lookingly affectionately at him, he said : 

“I am glad to see you Chester, but you look dis- 
turbed ; what is it, old friend ? ” 

“ I have tried hard to manage it myself, Harold,” 
Mr. Vivien answered sadly, taking out Clare’s letters 
and handing them to him, “ but the current is too 
strong against me, and I have come to you for aid.” 

Without a word, Mr. St. George read each letter 
through, and then, looking up sorrowfully at his 
friend, asked in a voice of so much anguish : 

“ What can I do, Chester ? ” that Mr. Vivien was 
touched anew, by this evidence of sympathy. 

“ Write to her, Harold,” he answered, “ bring 
every argument in your mind to bear, against this 
thing which she would do.” 


152 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ I fear that she will heed me little,” he an* 
swered, sighing deeply. 

“ Why do you say that, Harold ? Once you had 
great influence with her, greater, perhaps, than any 
one else. For my sake and her own, write to her,” 
the father pleaded. 

“ I will do as you wish, Chester,” Mr. St. George 
answered. “ Rene shall write also ; they corre- 
spond regularly, and only yesterday she received a 
letter from your daughter.” 

When Mr. Vivien left his friend, he was feeling 
more cheered and hopeful than he had for days; 
but it was with sadly different feelings that friend 
watched him go. 

Although he had said all he could to comfort the 
father, he was able to take but little to himself, and 
he thought : 

“ Should we succeed in bringing her back, with 
this restless, unsatisfied craving in her heart, what 
will be the end? Oh, most unhappy child, miser- 
able wretch that I am!” 

He bowed his head upon his desk, and shuddered 
in the impotence of despair. 

“ She has never answered my cruel letter, and no 
wonder. How dare I write to her again ? ” he 
thought, “ and such a letter, too, as I must write. 
Am I destined to give her only pain ? But I have 
promised, and however painful the task, I must per- 
form it.” 

Feeling thus, he sat down at his desk, and letter 
after letter was written and destroyed, before one 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


153 


of them seemed to him in any way fitted for its 
delicate and difficult mission. 

Procuring from little Rene a sweet and affection- 
ate letter, he enclosed it in his own, saying to him- 
self as he did so : “ It shall be a passport for mine,” 
then with doubt and fear sent it on its winged way. 

Promptly her answer came, one to himself, and 
one to his child. With trembling hands he opened 
his, and read : 

Mr. St. George, 

Kind Friend, — Your letter of the twenty-eighth has 
been received, and I feel that I must thank you for the interest 
you manifest in my future, and your deep sympathy with my 
father. That both of you are sincere I can well believe. 

You and I naturally view my intentions from such widely 
different standpoints, that I have no hope of converting you, to 
any faiths of mine ; but I do not despair that I will yet win my 
father. 

While his disapproval pains me greatly, something within 
me, that is neither genius nor ambition, yet has the strength of 
both, bids me be faithful to my purpose, and cheers me with the 
hope of victory. 

I shall not act contrary to my father’s wish. I may post- 
pone, but will not relinquish my intention. 

In conclusion, permit me to congratulate you upon your 
approaching marriage ; that it may bring you all the happiness 
you now anticipate, is the prayer of your 

Sincere Friend, Clare. 

“ Oh, my God, what a mockery,” he almost 
groaned. “ All the happiness I now anticipate,” he 
repeated. 

“What do I anticipate? Am I not once more 
the deluded victim of a fanaticism that has closed 
my heart to all truth and purity, when not clothed 


154 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


with the ideal loveliness in which I have hoped to 
find them.” 

In fancy he saw again as he saw it first, that 
rarely radiant face. It seemed as faultless still, but 
he no longer felt that his happiness depended on its 
possession. 

“Has it come to this, Harold St. George,” he 
asked himself aloud, “when even the touch of a far- 
off hand can awaken into torturing conviction, a 
slumbering discontent ? ” 

“ Am I a man of honor ? ” he asked himself 
again, as he rose and walked vehemently to and fro. 
“A man of honor, yet false to its highest code. 
What would Clare think of me if she knew ? Alas, 
if I mistake not, she already despises me for the 
weakness of all that is highest and best in man, and 
for the strength of all, she must have seen, I tried 
so vainly to resist.” 

Looking down once more at the letter he still 
held in his hand, he thought, “ She is as cold as ice, 
poor Chester; I fear I have done you no good.” 

Calling for Rene, he gave Clare’s letter to her, 
and helped her read it. The little missive was so 
sweetly tender, so utterly different from his, that 
for the first time he envied his child her trusting 
and returned affection. 

With the hesitation of pity, several days passed 
before he took the letter to Mr. Vivien. He felt 
relieved and surprised that the father manifested no 
grejit disappointment. 

“ I am content, Harold,” he said, “ since she will 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


155 


do nothing against my wishes ; for the rest I have 
everything to hope.” 

When Mr. St. George left Mr. Vivien’s study, 
he met Miss Tremaine and Mrs. Vivien in the hall. 
They told him frankly that the y had been waiting 
for him, that they might propose to him a trip to 
Newport. 

“ I have not taken a holiday for so many years, 
and Maud is really not feeling well; but she per- 
sists that she will not go unless you accompany us,” 
said Mrs. Vivien, smiling at her daughter. 

Maud Tremaine’s bewitching face was turned to 
him in mute appeal. 

“ What can I say,” he thought. “ I have no 
reasonable excuse for not going, and yet no fancy 
for the trip.” The drooping eyes took in his hesi- 
tation, but she only said in her sweetest and most 
caressing tones : 

“ I was so long away from you before, and so un- 
satisfied with it all, that I resolved to leave you no 
more.” 

It was true that through the summer she had 
seemed restless and disturbed; both mother and 
lover had observed it ; and when she decided that 
to Newport she must go, and her mother with her, 
Mrs. Vivien offered few objections. Learning that 
Clare Vivien would soon be at home, she was far 
too wise to think of leaving Mr. St. George in any 
such possible danger ; and when he went home he 
had given his promise to spend the month of Au- 
gust at Newport. 


156 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER XV. 


DISEN CH ANTMENT. 


“ I need not say how, one by one, 

Love’s flowers have dropped from off Love’s chain; 


Enough to say that they are gone, 

And that they cannot bloom again.” 


— L. E. Landon. 


RS. VIVIEN notified her husband of their 



-LVjL intended trip, and soon after he sent the in- 
formation to his daughter. He asked no final de- 
cision from her, but that she might come and solace 
him in his loneliness. 

The result was proof that he could have chosen 
no wiser course, for he had been alone but a few 
days when Clare, true to the impulses of her heart, 
answered his affectionate appeal in person. 

She knew where to find him, and walking 
straight into his study, he was in her arms before he 
knew that she had left New York. 

Rapidly the days passed to father and child. 
They were so happy to be once more together in 
health ; and never once did they allude to the sub- 
ject that loomed up like a ghost between them. 

Clare spent at Olney Heights all the time she 
could spare from her father. Rene, Celestine and 
Annetta met her always with such rapturous de- 
light, that it was a pleasure to go there. 

On her first visit, Annetta took her in her arms ; 
and, holding her a little off, said proudly : 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


15T 


“ My bonnie bairn, I knew that it would be so. 
You are handsomer than the other.” 

Clare’s dark fate flushed, for who that other 
was she knew too well, and saw at once that in this 
old friend of hers , the proud mistress of Olney 
Heights would have no partisan. 

“Ah, it was a sad time, lassie,” Annetta contin- 
ued, looking fondly into the young face, “ when I 
thought that these old eyes would never more be 
gladdened by the sight of you ; but God was good.” 

Rene was happier than she had been since Clare 
said good-by to her long months before, and seldom 
left her, persisting in staying at Claremont when 
Clare could not be at the Heights. 

Once only Clare had been through the splendid 
house. 

“ It is all so changed that I would not know it. 
It is so like an enchanted palace,” she said to Rene, 
who had been telling her that these changes had 
been made to please the new mother, who was com- 
ing. 

“ I am afraid I will never love her,” the child 
said dolefully, “ but I will not tell papa, it would 
grieve him so.” 

“ It is your duty to try to love your father’s wife, 
my darling,” Clare said, gravely, bending down and 
kissing tenderly the child’s fair brow. 

Only in the library did Clare feel, that she was 
again at Olney Heights. It was so filled with sweet 
and bitter memories to her ; yet she loved to linger 
there. 


158 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“It will soon be a lost paradise to me,” she 
thought, “ let me enjoy it while I may.” 

As she stood in the deep recess of one of its 
windows, looking dreamily out upon the lovely 
lawn, with Rene’s arms around her, few would have 
recognized in the stately handsome girl, the pale 
fragile one, of two years before. 

She had no features in common with her beautiful 
half-sister ; but there was a soul-ful beauty in her 
face, infinitely higher, and more winning, than all 
Maud Tremaine’s dazzling charms. 

In the soft brown eyes, were haunting shadows, 
of a passion, that had swept over her young life, 
like the breath of a sirocco ; purifying with its fires, 
and ennobling, and calming, with its despair. 

Yes ! little as she knew it, or had ever hoped to 
be so ; she was beautiful. 

Not with Miss Tremaine’s startling beauty, that 
compelled to instant admiration, all who beheld 
her ; but with those surer and more lasting charms, 
that steal upon the heart and mind, and win men’s 
highest and purest loves. 

In form, she was her sister’s equal; of the same 
height, more slender, and yet more stately ; seeming 
taller even than she was; and the dark Murillo 
tinted face, was no mean rival, of that white loveli- 
ness, which had been fatal to so many. 

Rene had been pleading with her for a song. She 
looked down at the little pleader, a smile of rare 
tenderness on her face. 

“ I will sing for you once, dear, and then I must 
be off,” she said, leaving the window a little reluc- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


159 


tantly and going to the piano. When the song was 
finished, Rene begged so sweetly for another, that 
she did not refuse, and had scarcely commenced to 
sing, when Mr. St. George in utter astonishment 
reached the library’s open door ; then stood quite 
still. The thrilling voice came to him, a memory of 
the vanished past. “ In some other world, if not in 
this,” he thought, “ I must have heard that glorious 
voice ; ” and with all his soul and every sense alert, 
he listened, and dreamed not, who the singer was. 

He was still unperceived even by Rene, and 
when the song was ended, the lady turned to the 
little girl and said sweetly: 

“ I can sing no more to-day, my darling.” 

Then kissing the child’s pleading mouth, she 
rose, and turning to leave the room, met Harold St. 
George face to face. 

Seeing him there, was so unexpected to her, 
believing him to be hundreds of miles away, that 
her heart gave a wild bound, and the very blood in 
her veins seemed turning into ice. 

For one brief moment they stared at each other 
in speechless silence ; more as foes would do who 
suddenly meet, than as friends long parted. 

At the very first he did not know her, she was so 
marvelously changed ; but one look into the beauti- 
ful eyes, that were still the same, added to the 
unforgotten voice, and he knew that his little Clare, 
grown into a graceful, lovely woman, stood before 
him. 

Of the two, she regained composure first ; and 
frankly extending her hand to him, said : 


160 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ This is a pleasure, Mr. St. George, as great, as 
it is unexpected.” 

Rene had possession of one of his hands, with 
the other he took Clare’s, and bowing over it, said 
with visible agitation in his voice : 

“ I too, did not dream of the pleasure in store 
for me ; and at first thought you a stranger ; you 
are so unlike, and yet so like my little Clare.” 

“If the change be an improvement I had need 
of it,” she answered, smiling brightly. 

“ In my eyes, and I am sure in Rene’s, there was 
little need for improvement. Is it not so, darling ? ” 
he asked, looking tenderly into his young daughter’s 
face. 

“ No one is so good or beautiful, as my own dear 
Clare,” the child answered, impulsively, “ and I 
love her, oh ! I love her so much papa, that if she 
leaves me again, I shall go to the angels.” 

Bending, down, Clare took the little girl in her 
arms and said, with grave tenderness : 

“ Rene, my love, never say that again, or you 
will break Clare’s heart.” 

The child was awed and touched, by her manner, 
and she answered : 

“ I never will, Clare, but you will let me love you 
all the same.” 

“ Certainly, my child, and live long to love me.” 
So Clare answered, gently disengaging herself from 
Rene’s clinging arms. 

Mr. St. George was too deeply moved by this ten- 
der scene, to be able to control his voice, and said 
nothing. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


161 


Once more seeming perfectly at ease, Clare asked, 

“ Is not your return unexpected ? ” 

“ Yes, I have come home sooner than I expected 
to when I left.” 

She fancied that there was a shade of pain in his 
voice, but she asked again, 

“ Did my another and sister return with you ? ” 

“They did not, and may remain two weeks 
longer.” 

She was by no means dejected at this news, for 
while she would have been very glad to see her 
mother, she felt willing to deprive herself of that 
happiness, for a week or two, as it must necessarily 
entail Maud Tremaine’s presence. 

“ I must say good-by,” Clare then said, “ as I 
have been away from my father all the morning, 
and he is growing quite jealous of you Rene.” 

“ I shall accompany you,” Mr. St. George said, 
starting for his hat. 

“ Oh ! no, don’t this morning, you have made a 
long journey and you are tired,” she said quickly, 
and almost brusquely. 

He saw that she was in earnest in not wishing 
him to go, and with a pained feeling relinquished 
his intention. 

On her homeward way she prayed : 

“ Help me oh ! God, to hide from him the shame- 
ful truth, that I have loved and worshiped him un- 
sought. Let me so act and speak, that if he has 
any knowledge of my weakness, he may forget that 
he has known, and live to deem himself mistaken.” 

She felt that she could have borne his presence 
L 7 * 


162 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


no longer with calmness ; and while she regretted 
that her refusal to let him go home with her, gave 
him pain, did not regret the refusal. 

In the evening Mr. St. George called upon Mr. 
Vivien, and after a time, as Clare did not come in, 
he asked for her, and found that 'she was not at 
home. After this he made two or three visits to 
Claremont, never once seeing her; and to his in- 
tense chagrin learned that each time she had been 
to Olney Heights, for Rene and Celestine. Once 
they had gone boating on the river, and the other 
times, had taken long walks through the woods. 

That she was purposely avoiding him, he did not 
think, and redoubled his exertions. 

Clare, seeing at last that all her efforts to avoid 
him would be useless, yielded quietly to circum- 
stances, only girding on her armor of reserve, and 
self respect, until she did convince him that she 
had no memory left, of a weakness which might 
have been his glory and his strength. 

In all their amusements Mr. Vivien took active 
part, and felt younger and happier than he had felt 
for years. 

They dined “ enfamille , ” first at Olney Heights 
and then at Claremont; they rode, drove, went 
boating ; and more than all they sang. 

Mr. St. George with his old passion for music,, 
never tired of listening to Clare’s magnificent voice; 
and almost every day, it rang out clear and sweet, 
through the splendid vaulted rooms, at Olney 
Heights. 

Becoming somewhat accustomed to the life that 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


163 


she lived, it soon lost its first poignant pain. Not 
that she had come to think, that she could live it 
very long ; for she knew that it must soon end, and 
that she would take up a new and entirely different 
one. 

Of this new life, she had not yet spoken to her 
father. She had very little doubt of eventually 
gaining his full sympathy and consent ; but dreaded 
to give him pain, seeing how happy and contented 
he seemed. 

Poor man, he was blissfully . deceiving himself 
with the belief, that she had given over all thought 
of it, in obedience to his wishes. 

“I must remain and see them married, or the 
world will think strangely, and so, perhaps may 
they. It is the last sacrifice my heart need ever 
make to pride. After that,” she thought with a 
bitter smile, “ there will be little left for me to suf- 
fer.” 

Her mother and sister were now daily expected, 
but she no longer shrank from their coming, as at 
first. A chill leaden apathy, seemed to have stolen 
over her; and like one numbed by despair, who 
with closed eyes meets an inevitable doom, she 
waited for the approaching fatal day. She longed 
to be at rest, and felt that she could never be, while 
tortured daily by his presence. 

“He is kind to me,” she thought, “but, oh, 
Heaven ! if he would only be kinder still, and stay 
away from me.” 

But stay away he did not, and, in truth, seemed 
never happy unless when in her presence ; and a 


164 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


tone of her sweet voice, or a touch of her soft hand, 
thrilled him as no woman’s voice or touch had ever 
done. He had been mad and blind with passion, 
and lived to know that passion dead and worthless ; 
but until then, had never felt that almost divine, 
pervading sentiment, which is perfect sympathy, 
appreciation, love, tenderness, all in one. Not that 
he had abandoned himself to it, for, as yet, he was 
unconscious of its full grown strength. He knew 
that he found in her his loftiest ideal of womanhood ; 
that she was all he could ever hope a woman to be ; 
and without pausing to consider that she was for- 
ever lost to him, a vague awe of fate and those cir- 
cumstances that make it, held these feelings still 
aloof from passion’s warmer glow. 

Miss Tremaine came at last, and met her recre- 
ant lover with superb disdain. 

“ So, mon ami , tiring of me, you sought an older 
yet a brighter flame,” she said, with coldest irony. 
“I thought, mon cher, that you had some better 
reason for leaving Newport than pure disgust and 
weariness of its gayeties.” 

In her heart, so capable of darkest treachery, she 
believed that he knew of Clare Vivien’s return to 
Olney, although she was herself in ignorance of it, 
having heard from Mr. Vivien the day before her 
departure, an intimation that he feared Clare would 
not come home during the summer. 

Mr. St. George did not reply to her at once, but 
looked intently at her, while flushing darkly, he 
said at last : 

“I left Newport, Maud Tremaine, because I 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


165 


could no longer witness your degradation, and not 
because I knew Clare Vivien was in Olney, for it 
was an unexpected pleasure to find her here.” 

The red lips curled scornfully, and the violet 
eyes flashed fire, as she asked, loftily : 

“ Do you mean to insult me, Harold St. George ? 
By what am I degraded ? ” 

“ By a wanton and heartless flirtation, that made 
you the talk of Newport. You knew my meaning 
well, and had no need to ask,” he answered, almost 
fiercely. 

She had never been so angry with him, and had 
never come so near hating him, but Reason told her 
that she had gone too far already, and that the man 
who stood so haughtily erect before her, was little 
more than a chained and chafing rebel. One mo- 
ment she paused to think, then hiding her face in 
her hands, sank upon a divan near, and sobbed hys- 
terically. 

It was not the first time that instinct had guided 
her right. 

He regretted his harshness at once, and goingup 
to her with even more kindness than she had hoped 
for, asked her forgiveness. 

“ She is a woman so fair, so tempted, I should 
have more mercy,” he thought, and once more a 
hollow truce was made between them. 

It was some days after this, before Mr. St. George 
again saw Clare Vivien. 

It was evening, and other guests were present, 
chief among whom was her old admirer, Glen Traf- 
ton. He had been quite devoted to her since her 


166 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


return, and Mr. St. George had not been able to sti- 
fle a feeling of resentment, at his occupying so 
much of her precious time. 

That night, both men watched her curiously. 
Never had she been so radiant; and side by side 
with her beautiful sister, her worst enemy could have 
called her no less beautiful. 

The greater part of the time being engaged in 
animated conversation, her face seemed glorified by 
the light of rare intelligence. 

“ Can this lovely and brilliant woman be the lit- 
tle Clare I have known and loved,” both men 
thought, and their eyes followed her with delight. 
When she sang, unmindful of all present, both drew 
near to listen. 

Never had her voice seemed so perfect, and she 
sang with all her soul, a song that one of them had 
loved, and in the old days sung with her so often. 
Why she had chosen it she did not know, unless it 
were to try her soul with a supremest torture. Mr. 
St. George came nearer to her; almost she could 
hear the beating of his heart. He had lost all mem- 
ory of his surroundings, and saw only that tender, 
impassioned face. 

If he had not known the whole truth, he knew 
it then ; for it came to him with sweet, yet madden- 
ing intensity. When the song was ended, bending 
over her, he said, softly : 

“ That was a sweet memory to me, Clare.” 

There was a thrill of something in his voice that 
she had never heard there before ; she dared not 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 167 

trust herself to look at him, and did not see the 
lovelight that was shining through his eyes. 

Rising hurriedly, without a word, she crossed 
the room to where Agnes Trafton 'and Mr. Vivien 
were sitting. 

It was some moments, before she regained her 
usual composure, and was once more sending bright 
flashes of wit through the room. 

Miss Tremaine had been eclipsed, for the first 
time in her life, by a woman whose charms she had 
hitherto valued lightly. She sat moodily and 
haughtily silent, listening listlessly, to Mr. Trafton, 
who had approached her, and was making an effort to 
be agreeable. She was too restless, and too much 
enraged, to be able to feel interest in any ordinary 
conversation. 

Under half closed eyelids, she watched furtively, 
the man who was so recklessly defiant of her claims, 
and seemed to have eyes and ears only for her bril- 
liant rival; who, in truth, seemed armed with “ every 
power to please.” 

Clare had dreaded this evening, more even, than 
she had acknowledged to herself, for she knew 
that she must see her sister and Mr. St. George to- 
gether for the first time since their acknowledged 
relation, and although outwardly calm and self-pos- 
sessed, she was inwardly wild with excitement. 

That they were a strange pair of lovers, she could 
not help thinking, but did not trust herself to ob- 
serve them very closely, and was only half conscious 
of Mr. St. George’s absorption in herself. 

The evening was almost gone, when he went over 


168 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


to Miss Tremaine, and gave Mr. Trafton his first 
opportunity, to talk uninterruptedly to Clare. 

Maud Tremaine did not sulk as many a better 
woman might have done, for far less flagrancy in a 
lover. She had had time for sober reason to master 
her passion of rage*; and it was only in those rare 
moments when that passion was uppermost, that she 
forgot. She was in her most bewitching mood, all 
smiles and tenderness, and when he spoke, she 
looked and listened, with the same dewy softness 
in her lovely eyes, that he had seen there, when he 
wooed her first. 

He listened with marked politeness to all that 
she said to him so airily, yet answered often at ran- 
dom ; for he was not thinking of her, and all her 
witcheries passed unnoticed. He could not close 
his heart to the melody of one sweet voice which 
came to him across the room, and his eyes uncon- 
sciously wandered, to where its owner stood. 

Miss Tremaine was not unmindful of those wan- 
dering glances, and when she rose to say good-night 
to the departing guests, a cruel, savage gleam re- 
placed the tenderness, that had availed so little. 
The dinner party had been a success, but she felt 
that it was not due to herself that it had been so ; 
and this to her, meant defeat. She saw Harold 
St. George bow over Clare Vivien’s hand, such 
wooing softness in both look and manner, as were 
new and strange in him. 

How she hated them, hated them with such 
deadly hatred, that had the power been hers, in that 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


169 


moment of torturing rage, she would have con- 
signed them to eternal misery. 

Clare scarcely heeded Mr. St. George’s tender 
good-by, and was conscious only of a wild wish 
to be once more alone ; for little as Maud Tremaine 
thought it, the evening had been a miserable one to 
her, and of her triumph she knew nothing ; having 
had but one thought or care, to act, and seem, 
what she was not. 

Like one in a dream, Mr. St. George went home; 
but alas ! too soon for his peace of mind, he 
awakened to the dread reality, and knew at last, 
that the woman to whom his life-long fealty was 
pledged, was nothing, less than nothing, to him. 
That they had no thought, taste, or aspiration t in 
common, he had long known ; but had not dreamed 
before, that no trace remained, of the ignoble pas- 
sion which had led him so far astray. With over- 
whelming force, the whole truth of his position was 
revealed to him, and he saw no ray of light to 
guide him through his labyrinth of errors. Deso- 
late, despairing, he sought to bury memory in sleep ; 
but it was long coming, and when it did, dis- 
tracting dreams, avenged his banished thoughts. 


8 


4 


170 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 


“For all sad words of. tongue or pen 
The saddest are these: ‘It might have been.’ ” 


—Whittier. 


ORNING found Harold St. George worn and 



i-VJL haggard. With food untasted he left the break- 
fast-room, and sought seclusion in the library. Rest- 
lessly he walked the floor, thinking distractedly all 
the while ; but there seemed no escape for him. 

“ Fool and madman, that I am,” he said 
to himself, “ ay ! worse than madman, for 
the experience of those miserable years, 
should have saved me from this folly. Every 
true instinct in my nature warned me against this 
beguiling woman ; passion alone, has once more led 
me to my doom. Ah, Heaven ! why did I not 
know when it was not too late, that the highest, 
purest, truest love that man can know, was that 
which bound me to the dark-eyed child, who loved 
me, as child or woman never did, or will again. 
My darling, my darling, if you could know the 
agony I suffer, to feel that you are lost to me forever, 
it would be such vengeance as your gentle heart 
would never wish. Oh ! my lost love,” he cried 
aloud, “ was it from this you would have saved 
me, even in the wildness of delirium ? Had your 
pure soul read mine so well, that it knew hers would 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


171 


be no mate for it. You called me your beloved 
then, but now, your love is dead, and you would 
despise me if you knew the maddening truth.” 

Through the long day he battled fiercely with 
his fate, which seemed the blacker and more deso- 
late from knowing what a heaven of love had been 
so near. “ Too late, too late,” ever these sad words 
were ringing through his brain. 

To hide his misery he feigned illness, and saw no 
one. When he did come forth to meet his friends, 
the illness that was feigned, had left a genuine im- 
print ; and when he plead it in excuse for his three 
days absence from Claremont, to Mr. Vivien and 
Clare; looking at him, they could not well doubt 
the truth of his statement. He stood, with his 
blond head, bared to the sunlight, and Clare 
fancied, that new lines had been graven, across the 
broad brow, and around the proud sensitive mouth, 
since they parted. The blue eyes seemed deeper 
and darker, and if she had dared give wings to her 
fancy, a heart’s tragedy might have been traced. 

They had come over on horseback ; and Mr. 
Vivien, finding Mr. St. George something of an 
invalid, insisted upon his having his horse brought 
out, and taking a ride with them. 

“It will do you good, Harold,” he added, “for 
you look as if you had been having a tough time of 
it. If you will go we will gladly wait.” 

Clare said nothing, in fact she had not come of 
her own choice, but being out with her father, he 
had insisted upon it. She was mounted upon her 
superb black Arab, and was looking more beautiful 


172 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Mr. St. George thought, than he had ever seen her. 
But he had always thought that she looked her 
best on horseback ; she was so perfectly mistress of 
her horse and of herself, and with the ease of 
conscious power, sat firmly and gracefully erect. 

The temptation to be near her was too great to 
resist ; he accepted Mr. Vivien’s invitation and went 
at once to order his horse. 

They started off three abreast, and for a while 
conversed pleasantly. 

Suddenly Clare bent down almost to the black 
mane of the spirited animal she was riding ; patted 
her neck softly and said firmly, “ Nox, Nox, we will 
have a run now.” 

Then straightening herself in the saddle, before 
Mr. St. George had even time to think of her 
meaning, she was off like an arrow from a bow. 

Instantly, he started after her, and the horse he 
rode was no poor antagonist of her almost winged 
Arabian. 

Mr. Vivien called after him that she was in no 
danger; but he neither heeded nor listened. At 
last he saw them around a bend in the road. Nox 
was restive and plunging wildly from her sudden 
halting. He rode up to them with staring eyes and 
a face like the dead ; grasped her reins and asked : 

“ Clare Vivien, would you drive me mad ? ” in a 
voice of such pathos and passionate reproach, that 
she was startled, and answered him very gently : 

“ I thought you knew, Mr. St. George, that I 
often rode this way.” 

“How should I know?” he asked, and looked 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


173 


so grave, so solemnly in earnest, that she could not 
resist her inclination, and laughed ; a ringing joyous 
laugh. 

It seemed ludicrous to her, that so slight a thing, 
should have moved him so much ; and that innocent 
laugh, tore down a mountain of reserve, that had 
been between them. 

Once more she seemed to him the gay, light 
hearted child, whom he thought was gone forever. 

Forgetting all that could mar their present, they 
rode back slowly to meet Mr. Vivien, talking more 
unreservedly, than they had done, since that part- 
ing long before. 

“ Have you never heard of any of that girl’s mad 
exploits, Harold, that this one should have alarmed 
you so ? ” Mr. Vivien asked as they approached. 

“ Never ! ” he answered, “and I thought I was 
familiar with her accomplishments as a horse 
woman.” 

“ Before you came, she kept her mother and 
myself, as well as all the good people of Olney, in 
constant fear and apprehension ; but I believe she 
did change wonderfully after she had you to ride 
with her,” Mr. Vivien said, not heeding his daugh- 
ter’s blushing face. Mr. St. George saw it, and 
with innate delicacy seemed not to. 

“ I thought her horse was running away with 
her,” he said, turning to Mr. Vivien, “ and in truth 
I think there is danger in riding that way, even if 
the horse be under your control. This beautiful 
animal,” he added, tapping lightly Nox’s shining 


174 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


mane, “ has too much fire and mettle, to be lightly 
tampered with.” 

“ Ay ! but she is true as steel to me, and I have 
no fear,” Clare answered bravely ; but she did not 
leave them again, and in their happiest mood, they 
rode back to Olney Heights. 

Percy Dartmoth was again a regular visitor, at 
Claremont, and when Mr. Vivien and Clare reached 
home, they found him there. 

The mother was watching anxiously this new 
caprice of her daughter. She had thought this man 
banished, for until the last few days, he had not 
been there since their return. 

Clare was wondering and watching also ; she 
knew that Maud Tremaine, was unworthy of the 
man who had chosen her, and felt that she was 
making herself still more so, by encouraging false 
hopes in the heart of a desperate man. 

After this Mr. St. George made his visits oftenest 
in the evening, and saw Maud Tremaine alone very 
seldom. He met Glen Trafton often, and some- 
times Percy Dartmoth. Both of them he treated 
with haughty politeness, but no more. With his 
betrothed he no longer remonstrated, feeling that he 
had no longer the right ; but looked on hopelessly, 
knowing that the day drew near when he should 
sign his life away to direst misery. 

Of the five who met so often, Clare Vivien was 
far the happiest, having already suffered the torture 
and passion of a great despair ; she neither hoped 
nor feared, and felt that the future could bring her 
nothing worse than she had known. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


175 


Glen Trafton’s love she plainly saw and deeply 
regretted, but did not see that other deeper, more 
despairing and more passionate love, the fair bud of 
affection, that day by day, and hour by hour, had 
strengthened, expanded, and bloomed at last into the 
master passion of a life. 

Harold St. George believed that Glen Trafton 
loved her too, and, being only human, his heart was 
filled with jealous rage. For, lost as she was to 
him, the thought was maddening, that before his 
very eyes, another might win her. 

With impartial kindness she smiled on both, and 
sang to each of them their favorite songs ; but there 
was no trace of coquetry in her manner, no thought 
of it in her heart. She had loved greatly and had 
lost. That no other love could come to bless her 
life she knew, but felt no sorrow or regret that she 
had loved, and looked with calmness on her deso- 
late life, feeling that 

“ It was better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all.” 


176 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER XVII, 


A RACE WITH DEATH. 


“My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, 
And throbbed awhile, then beat no more: 
The skies spun like a mighty wheel ; 

I saw the trees like drunkards reel, 

And a slight flash sprang o’er my eyes, 
Which spw no farther: he who dies 
Can die no more than then I died. 
O’ertortured by that ghastly ride, 

I felt the blackness come and go, 

And strove to wake; but could not make 
My senses climb up from below.” 


—Byron. 


AILY Mr. St. George had grown more wretch- 



-Ly edly desperate, and fearing almost to look at 
Clare, lest she should see his madness, he once more 
absented himself from Claremont, and did not appear 
again, until he was sent for to make one of a riding 
party, who were going over the mountains, to a lovely 
valley beyond, through which their own river passed 
in its winding course before it reached them. It 
was twenty miles away, and they were to be gone 
two days. The place was wild and romantic, with 
good fishing, and an abundance of game. 

It had long been a resort for the people of Olney, 
and a tavern was kept there by a farmer for their 
accommodation. 

There were twelve in the party, six ladies and 
six gentlemen. As they started out, Clare Vivien 
and Mr. Trafton led the way, and Miss Agnes 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


1T7 


Trafton and Mr. St. George followed them. Miss 
Tremaine and Mr. Dartmoth were the hindmost 
couple. 

All seemed to have brought to the excursion 
their gayest laugh and brightest smile, and none 
who caught the merry echo of their voices could 
have believed that care or discontent had lodgment 
in any of their hearts. 

Clare Vivien was more than usually joyous, with- 
out herself knowing why. She did not dream that 
it was due to the presence of one who had been, and 
was still, very dear to her. She did not analyze the 
feeling, and did not hope, but simply put her 
despair behind her, and this bright September morn- 
ing, almost forgot that Maud Tremaine stood in the 
gates of her paradise, and hid from her its light. 

She was gay, witty, charming, and Glen Trafton 
was utterly bewitched. To every word she spoke, 
he listened with such rapture, that none who looked 
could fail to read. 

Mr. St. George had thrown his smiling mask 
aside, and was growing more and more morose. 
The pain of death, was in his heart as he looked at 
that angel face, and felt that it never could be his. 
He tried hard to make himself agreeable to his com- 
panion, but at last gave up the attempt, and for 
some moments rode on in silence. He was watch- 
ing Nox closely, not liking her movements; she 
seemed irritated by something, perhaps her bit, he 
thought. 

“Your Arab beauty is restless this morning, 

Clare,” he said, at last. 

M 


178 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Yes, unusually so ; but I think she will be over 
it soon,” she replied, and nothing more was said 
on the subject, although Mr. St. George did not 
once cease to watch. The others were too much 
accustomed to Clare’s fearless riding to notice any- 
thing unusual in either horse or rider, and were at 
any time prepared for some eccentricity. 

They had gone about eight miles from home, and 
the road now passed through a thickly grown woods. 
Suddenly, the loud report of a rifle startled every 
ear. Nox gave one wild leap, and like the wind 
bore off her powerless and unresisting rider. 

As quick as thought itself, Mr. St. George darted 
after them, for he alone of all her companions felt 
to madness her fearful danger. They knew what 
wonderful control she had over the animal she rode, 
knew that the mare had been trained to the noise 
of fire-arms, and had seen her do such mad and 
reckless things, that they did not doubt this was 
only another of her daring rides. 

True, Glen Trafton followed them for a little 
while ; but his horse was no match for their trained 
chargers, and he soon fell back with the rest, mak- 
ing an effort to feel amused at the way Mr. St. 
George was being deceived ; but the effort was a 
failure, for, notwithstanding his confidence in Clare’s 
superior horsemanship, he did not feel at ease. 

A wild, agonizing fear was in Harold St. George’s 
heart; he knew that not a mile away the road 
divided, the one leading to their destination turn- 
ing to the right, and the other going straight on- 
ward to death and to destruction. Clare knew it 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


179 


too, and felt how powerless she was to guide the 
frantic horse, having lost the reins at that first 
bound. She clung desperately to the saddle, and 
like one turned to stone, made no sound or move- 
ment* She saw where the roads forked, and then 
they passed it. 

“ Oh ! God have mercy,” she shrieked aloud, 
then closed her eyes and waited for the horror that 
was to come. 

She did not heed the noise of advancing horse- 
hoofs, but as one who dreams she heard that long- 
loved voice calling aloud to her : 

“Jump ! Clare, for God’s sake and mine ! It is 
your last chance ; release yourself from the saddle.” 

She heard, but made no effort to obey. Death’s 
agony and darkness had swept over her, and the 
trembling soul awaited its release from the numbed 
and well-nigh senseless clay. 

“ Undo your hold, my darling,” she heard the 
same voice shrieking in her ear ; then a whirling, 
deafening noise, and the feeling that she was being 
torn with fearful violence from her saddle, and she 
heard and felt no more. 

With one strong arm Harold St. George had saved 
her from an awful doom, and with the other held in 
check his rearing, foaming steed. Almost with 
more than mortal strength he seemed endowed, so 
great his fears, so wild his agony. 

He had held his lifeless burden but a moment, 
when with strained, dilating eyes, he saw the rider- 
less Nox make her last leap, into the black abyss 


180 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


beyond, and heard an awful wailing cry come from 
the frightened, maddened beast. 

It was some moments before he was entirely 
master of his own horse. As soon as he was, he 
dismounted, and carrying the helpless girl tQ the 
shadow of a tree near by, laid her gently down. 

“ She has fainted, and no wonder ! my poor darl- 
ing ! ” he thought, then said devoutly and aloud : 

“ Oh, God, I thank thee that Thou didst give me 
strength and courage to save her.” Then, kneeling 
down, he rubbed her cold hands, and from her brow 
smoothed the dark, waving hair. 

But as the moments flew, and still there was no 
sign of life or movement, the horror of a great fear 
came to his heart, and in his anguish he cried : 

“ Clare, Clare ! my darling, my only love, come 
back to me ! Come back to me, angel of my life, 
my own true love ! ” 

Once more he took her tenderly in his arms and 
held her against his tortured heart, kissed her cold 
brow and unresisting lips, and wildly called her by 
every fond, endearing name. 

As if his anguish had power to call her even 
from the shores of time, slowly her eyes unclosed, 
then closed again, as if dazzled by the brightness. 
Softly and musically, as the sighing of a summer’s 
breeze, she murmured : 

“ And this is Heaven.” 

Once more she looked ; he was bending over her, 
a passion of tenderness in his eyes. 

“My own, my love,” again she murmured, and 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


181 


her dark eyes were luminous and tender with the 
love so long repressed. 

Heaven in his heart, delirium in his brain, lower 
he bent, until his lips met hers, in love’s long raptur- 
ous, thrilling kiss. 

“ My love, my only love,” he gently whispered, 
“ God has given you to me for time, and for eter- 
nity.” 

His arms were around her, and closer and firmer 
he held her, as if defying man or demon to un- 
loose his clasp. 

She felt his warm impassioned kisses on brow and 
cheeks and lips ; heard his fond endearing words, 
and remembered only that she loved him and had 
loved him long. In her mind there seemed no 
memory of time or space. 

“ If this be Heaven, it is so sweet to die,” she 
said once more, unutterable tenderness in her eyes. 

“ My darling,” he answered, holding her almost 
fiercely to his breast, “ It is an earthly heaven, from 
which I swear, you never shall be banished.” 

As yet she had not moved ; but now his passion- 
ate words, and glowing eloquent eyes, thrilled every 
pulse of her being, and quickened into life her dor- 
mant senses. Slowly she lifted her head and moved, 
as if to free herself. 

“ I am not dead then, but have been dreaming,” 
she said, in a low, hesitating voice. 

“No! no; not dead my love, nor dreaming 
either,” he ‘answered gently. 

“ You did not love me ; do I not dream that you 

do ? ” 


182 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ You do not dream; dearest, I love you, and have 
loved you from the first ; but a madness which your 
pure mind can never comprehend, blinded me and 
hid the truth, until it was, alas! almost; too late.” 

These worcls brought back with sudden force, the 
memory of past woe, and struggling to be free, she 
said : 

“ Release me, Mr. St. George, you have no right 
to hold me so.” 

“ No right, my love ! ” he said reproachfully ; 
“ my own, my darling, you can not go, until with 
your own sweet lips you tell me, that even as I love 
you, I am loved.” 

“ Ah ! Heaven, you have known long, how I 
have loved you ; why ask of me this new humila- 
tion?” 

“ Is it then, Clare, so humiliating to you, that 
you love me?” he asked in a low, pained voice. 

“ Not that I love you ; but because that love has 
been unsought.” 

“ How came I here ? ” she asked with sudden ex- 
citement, the strangeness of her situation but then 
dawning upon her. She looked around wildly and 
attempted to rise. He released her and assisted her 
to her feet. She swayed, tottered, and but for him 
would have fallen. 

“ Where is Nox?” she asked, excitedly. 

“ You must sit down, my dear,” he said ; “ you 
have not the strength to stand,” and leading her 
gently to the tree, he seated her where she could 
lean for support against its trunk. 

“ Oh ! tell me where is Nox? ” she asked again, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


183 


“ is she saved, or ” a fearful shuddering stopped 

her speech. 

“Until you are stronger, try not to think, my 
darling,” he said, with tender compassion in his 
voice. 

“ But I must think, and unless I know the whole 
truth I shall go mad ; so much of that past horror 
has come back to me.” 

“ When you are calmer I will tell you all you 
need to know, my love.” 

“ Then tell me quickly,” she pleaded; “ for until 
I know the truth, however terrible, no calmness can 
come to me.” 

She stretched forth her hands to him imploringly ; 
he took them in his own and looked down at her 
with grave and pitying fondness, as he said : 

“ I would prefer to tell you nothing now, dear, but 
as you think it best, that you should know all that 
has occurred, I can not any longer resist you. When 
I saw Nox give a fearful bound, and start on that 
mad run, with a wild fear in my heart, and a prayer 
to Heaven for aid, I followed, knowing well that 
my horse was trained to fleetness greater even than 
your own; I knew your awful peril, and my agony 
was greater than any words can tell you. The 
race was brief but maddening. It was for life ; a 
life dearer than my own. Heaven winged my horse 
and nerved my arm, to draw you back to life and 
love, almost from death’s embrace. I tore you from 
your flying horse, and in a moment more, saw her 
make that last wild leap, and heard her fearful 
death cry.” 


184 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Oh ! Nox, my poor Nox,” Clare cried in 
anguish, and sobbed so violently, that he took her in 
his arms and vainly tried to comfort her. 

“ Oh ! Nox, Nox, I loved you so, and to think 
that you should die, and die so dreadfully,” she said, 
then shuddering with the horror of a doom that 
had passed her by, she wept more bitterly still. 

“Clare, dearest,” Mr. St. George said at last, 
“ can you not rather thank God for your own life 
preserved ? He has been very merciful to both of us.” 

Lifting her eyes reverently to Heaven, she an- 
swered in a trembling voice : 

“ I do thank God and you, that I did not die with 
my poor Nox, but none the less, do I mourn her un- 
timely end. Let me go to her at once.” 

“ Do nothing of the kind, Clare, I beg of you ; 
the sight would only torture you ; and besides you 
are not able to make the descent.” 

All his efforts to persuade her were in vain. She 
still insisted that she must go. Seeing that her own 
joys and sorrows were forgotten, and that she had 
no thought but for the dead beast she had loved so 
well, with the hope that it might bring her calmness 
and resignation, he relented, and rising, assisted her 
gently to her feet. Looking down at her, tenderly 
and protectingly, he said : 

“We will go, dear, since you wish it,” and, 
taking her arm, he guided her down the fatal path. 
They had no great distance to walk, before they 
stood upon the very brink of the yawning chasm. 

Clinging to Mr. St. George’s arm for support, 
Clare peered down into its black and awful depths. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


185 


Some mighty upheaval of nature seemed to have 
rent in twain a giant mountain, and the rocky, 
almost perpendicular, sides of the terrible abyss, 
were well nigh barren of vegetation. To its lowest 
depths the sun rarely or never penetrated, but a 
stream of water rushed through it, and flowed on to 
the river beyond. 

Where they were standing had long been known 
as “ The Devil’s Leap, ’’"and from childhood Clare 
had been familiar with its wild, dark legends, and 
shuddered always at the sight of it, so little dream- 
ing of this tragedy which was to come. 

As she stood, giddy and almost breathless, peer- 
ing downward, she heard the roaring waters as they 
rushed over the fall at the head of the ravine, saw 
huge ledges of rock, and here and there a struggling 
shrub, but no trace or vestige of the ill-fated Nox. 

“The rocks hide her from our view,” Mr. St. 
George said, softly. 

Then seeing that she was shuddering fearfully, 
he led her gently away. 

The path turned here abruptly, and passed along 
the edge of the cliff, to where winding steps, partly 
natural, led to the very bottom of the abyss, and the 
wild grandeur that rewarded their efforts had 
tempted many to the descent. There were few 
people in Olney or the country around it, who had 
not, at some time in their lives, stood in the dark 
valley and looked upward to the light. 

When Clare and Mr. St. George reached the 
steps, he asked : 


8 * 


186 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Will you let me go alone, dear, or do you wish 
to go also ? ” 

“I will go,” she answered, sadly. 

She had made the descent before, and had no 
fear of it now. Only one great horror had posses- 
sion of her, the sight that must meet her there. 

Slowly he assisted her down the rugged, uneven 
way ; and when they reached the bottom, almost 
carried her to where the mangled, bleeding Nox lay 
dead. In that frightful death-leap she escaped the 
rocks, but every bone seemed crushed. She was 
partly in the water ; and although Mr. St. George 
tried to prevent Clare doing so, she knelt down on 
the damp, shining earth beside her, and once more 
sobbed wildly. 

All this time Mr. St. George had not thought of 
those who followed them, but now he heard the 
far-off sound of human voices calling wildly, and 
knew that even worse than the awful truth was 
feared by them. 

A moment more, and down the rugged steps he 
saw a man descending rapidly. It was Glen Traf- 
ton, who, hatless and almost breathless, rushed past 
him with frantic haste, and knelt beside the weeping 
girl, who was still calling mournfully to her poor, 
dear Nox. 

“Oh, thank God, my darling, you are safe,” 
Glen Trafton said, and bowing his head upon 
the cold hands that he had taken in his, with the 
violence of his emotions his whole form shook and 
trembled. 

Clare looked at him a little while, with a vague, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


18 T 


weary wonder ; then, drawing her hands away from 
him, she rose to her feet. 

As Mr. St. George had hoped, she was calmer, 
but still trembled violently. He had been standing 
with closed lips and folded arms watching this 
scene, and he now stepped up to her and said : 

“ Take my arm, Clare, you are not strong.” 

With the trusting simplicity of a child, she 
obeyed him. 

Mr. Trafton rose also to his feet, and holding out 
his hand to the other man, said, huskily : 

“ I know that you must have been the instrument 
in the hands of God, to save this dear one, and for 
my own life, I could not thank you half so much.” 

One moment Mr. St. George hesitated, and as 
he took young Trafton’s proffered hand, Clare felt 
the arm on which her own was resting, tremble con- 
vulsively, and tighten its hold on hers, as if fearing 
that he might lose her. 

In truth there was in his heart, in the midst of 
all his gratitude to Heaven, a bitter rebellious 
feeling, at any man daring to look like this one, and 
thank him for an act, that had it been less well per- 
formed, his life as well as hers had been the forfeit. 

“ I never dreamed of your danger Clare,” Mr. 
Trafton said again, in a trembling voice, and looking 
down at the young girl fondly, “ I thought that you 
had only taken that time for another of your old 
rides ; but for all that, having always feared for you, 
when you have seemed so daring, I followed you, 
until I saw that it was useless, and then fell back 
with the others. But I could not feel content, and 


188 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


watched anxiously for your return, or to come up to 
you waiting. We passed the fatal path that brought 
you here, and rode on a mile, two miles, and still no 
sign of you. At the first house I halted, resolved 
to know if you had passed ; and heard Miss Tre- 
maine calling to me, 

“ ‘Do not be alarmed Mr. Trafton, it is only a 
playful ruse of my sister’s and Mr. St. George’s to 
win a t§te-a-t§te.’ 

“ Still my fears were not allayed, and hallooing 
loudly, a man came out, who told me that no such 
persons had been seen, and without being seen they 
could not pass. 

“ At once the horrors of this dreadful chasm, 
loomed up before me, and without an instant’s pause, 
fast as my horse could carry me, I have come, alas! 
too late for more than, had I found you dead, to die 
with you.” 

As he spoke the passion of years was shining 
through his eyes ; and when he stopped, Mr. St. 
George felt Clare shudder, otherwise she made no 
movement and no sign that she had heard ; but cold, 
pale, still, with a far-off, solemn look in her mourn- 
ful eyes, she leaned heavily on his arm, and but for 
his support, would have fallen. 

“ Do not question me now, it is no fitting time or 
place,” Mr. St. George said, in a constrained voice, 
seeing the questioning look on Mr. Trafton’s face. 

Then turning to Clare, he said very softly : 

“ I am going to find you a seat, little one,” and 
led her to a shelving rock near by, took off his coat, 
laid it over it, and bade her be seated. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


189 


“ I do not need the coat,” she protested, but see- 
ing that he was firm, sat down passively. Mr. 
Trafton offered his coat also, but Mr. St. George 
peremptorily declined it, saying : 

“ One is quite enough, and beside Trafton, you 
will need yours, as I think I shall have to ask you 
to go to the nearest farm-house for assistance.” 

Then very tenderly he said to Clare : 

“ Would you not prefer to bury your dead here, 
and as soon as we can ? ” 

A low sob, was her only answer, and he con- 
tinued : 

“It will be very difficult, almost impossible to 
remove poor Nox, and I think you could find no 
more fitting burial place.” 

She lifted her solemn tender eyes and said sadly: 

“ Let it be as you think best.” 

There was a great longing at his heart, to take 
her in his arms, and woo her from her grief ; but 
instead he turned away from her and asked Glen 
Trafton, if he would not go to the nearest neighbors, 
and find men and the necessary implements for 
digging a grave. 

“ Yes, certainly ! ” Mr. Trafton answered, “I too 
think it will be best to bury Nox before we go. 
Clare will be better satisfied.” 

He started off at once, his honest heart full of 
gratitude to the man, whom he thought kind and 
thoughtful as a brother to the woman he loved. 
When he reached the top of the cliff once more, 
he saw the whole party that he had left behind him 
in his flight, approaching. The sound of their 


190 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


voices had already warned him that they were 
near. 

“ Oh ! Glen, for God’s sake tell me is she safe ? ” 
his sister shrieked to him. 

“ She is saved and by almost a miracle I believe,” 
he answered, in a solemn voice. 

Agnes Trafton fell upon her knees ; the others 
followed her and joined in devout thanksgiving to 
God, who had been so merciful. It was a touching 
sight, and when they rose to their feet, there was not 
one dry eye among them. Even Maud Tremaine, 
for once in her life was moved to unselfish tears. 
Death was so terrible to her, and it had come so 


near. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


191 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THANK HIM, AND BLESS HIM. 


“Joys, 


Zest 

Itself Is salted with a taste of woe; 


There’s nothing comes to us may not be borne 
Except a too great happiness.” 


—Owen Meredith. 


OT an hour after the riding party left, Joseph 



-L ^ came in from the barn and asked Mr. Vivien 
how long Miss Clare would be out. 

Mr. Vivien saw the man’s disturbed look and 
questioned him as to why he asked. 

“ To tell the truth Mr. Vivien,” he answered, 
“ the mare has a slight abrasion on her back. When 
she was turned loose in the pasture yesterday, she 
must have snagged it some way, while rolling. 
When Miss Clare sent to me this morning for her, I 
knew what a disappointment it would be, if I re- 
fused to let her go ; and as the wound was not 
serious, I put the saddle on in such a way that it 
would only rub it slightly if at all, and sent her 
around. But I should no£ like Miss Clare to take a 
very long ride, as it might aggravate the sore, and 
make a troublesome wound.” 

“ You distress me greatly, Joseph, by what you 
say, for my daughter has gone to Elkton Valley, 
and will not return until to-morrow afternoon.” 

“ Oh ! dear, dear,” the man said, really dis- 


192 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


tressed, “ why it is full twenty miles away ; I fear 
she will be ruined. If I had only known Miss Clare 
was going so far, I would never have sent the mare 
to her.” 

Mr. Vivien felt troubled and anxious ; but when 
Joseph left him, tried hard to banish what he had 
heard from his mind. 

The black beauty was Joseph’s pet and pride, 
loving her almost as well as the young mistress who 
adored her, and the morning proved a sorry one to 
him. He could not help feeling remorseful, that he 
had saddled her at all. 

“ I had better have disappointed Miss Clare, but 
then who would have thought of a ride like this,” 
he said to himself ; and thus alternately tormenting 
and consoling himself, time passed. 

Being anxious he was the first to hear and see 
the approaching party, and rushing from the barn- 
yard, he reached the gate, as Mr. Vivien, disturbed 
by the sound of voices and the noise of wheels, 
opened the front door. 

Joseph saw Clare seated in a wagon, and at once 
looked around for Nox. Seeing her nowhere, his 
fears came back redoubled, and he asked excitedly: 

“ Where is Nox ? ” 

Clare sat pale and silent. 

“ Where is Nox ? ” he asked again. 

“ We have had a terrible accident, Joseph ; thank 
God with us that our dear Clare has been spared,” 
Mr. St. George said, in a low solemn voice. 

A look of terror came into the man’s face, as he 

7 • 

asked again, almost in a whisper : 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


193 


“ Where is she ? ” 

“ Dead,” Mr. St. George answered. 

With one deep groan, Joseph covered his face 
with his hands and sobbed like a child. 

“I am to blame, oh! my beauty, my pride,” he 
.cried out, as Mr. Vivien reached the gate. 

Mr. St. George had by this time lifted Clare from 
the wagon ; she staggered to her father’s arms, and 
once more gave way to her grief. Mr. Vivien saw 
that something was wrong, terribly wrong ; but he 
knew that his darling was safe in his arms, and 
knowing that, he was strong to bear whatever evil 
tidings they might bring him. 

He looked around with mute inquiry, saw 
Joseph’s evident sorrow, and asked in an anxious 
voice : 

“ What is it, Harold ? ” 

Mr. St. George had dismounted, as also had Miss 
Tremaine and Mr. Dartmoth, and as Mr. St. George 
answered : 

“ I would prefer to tell you in-doors, Chester ; ” 
the party rode away. 

Mrs. Vivien, who had only now become aware of 
their return, met them at the door with anxious in- 
quiries, to none of which she received an answer. 
Mr. Vivien walked straight into the sitting-room 
with one arm still around his daughter. 

“Let me lie down, father,” Clare said faintly, 
and almost fell upon the lounge to which he led 
her. 

“Are you ill, my darling?” he asked quickly, 
N 9 


194 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


in an agitated voice; “ you are hurt, you have fallen, 
or been thrown.” 

“ Oh ! no, father, I am unharmed and only 
weary, and oh ! so tired,” she answered. 

But Mr. Vivien was not satisfied, and extremely 
excited, turned once more to Mr. St. George for ex- 
planation. 

Mrs. Vivien was sitting by the lounge at her 
daughter’s head, almost as much excited as her hus- 
band. 

“ Sit down, Chester,” Mr. St. George said 
gently, as he placed a chair for him near Clare, and 
one for himself beside it. Mr. Vivien when seated 
took his daughter’s hand, and looked fondly and 
anxiousty into her face. 

“ As she has herself said, Clare is unharmed,” he 
heard Mr. St. George saying, and murmured, “ My 
God, I thank Thee.” 

“She has been in great peril,” Mr. St. George 
continued, “ but by God’s mercy she has been saved 
from it, without even a scratch or bruise. We had 
gone little more than five miles, when I noticed first, 
that Nox seemed restless and uneasy. I spoke of 
it, but Clare thought it would soon pass off. I was, 
however, not satisfied, and fancied that the mare 
grew worse instead of better, and was about pro- 
posing to examine her, when at the loud report of a 
rifle in the woods near by, Nox, with one fearful 
bound, started off at lightning speed.” 

Both father and mother, groaned aloud, and 
Clare listened with closed eyes and trembling lips. 

“ Fast as my horse could go, I followed,” he con- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


195 


tinued, “ almost I seemed to fly. I saw them take 
the path which leads straight to that awful chasm, 
and knew there was but one hope left. In my ter- 
ror I called wildly to her, to free herself from the 
saddle, it was her last chance ; feeling that Qven a 
chance for life was better than that terrible certain 
death ” 

Mr. St. George stopped, choked with emotion ; 
Mr. Vivien was on his knees by Clare’s side, with 
his arms around her, and Mrs. Vivien was sobbing 
wildly. 

“ You did jump, darling,” Mr. Vivien said huskily, 
and in his eyes his daughter saw all the agony he 
felt for the peril she had passed. Gently she dis- 
engaged herself, and rose to a sitting posture. 

“No ! father, I did not jump,” she said in a low, 
unsteady voice. “ Like one turned to stone, I heard 
him calling to me, 4 to jump, to free myself from the 
saddle.’ I knew his meaning, but had no power to 
obey ; and but for his strong arm, would not now 
be here ; ” she shuddered slightly, but went on, “ I 
felt that I was being dragged with fearful violence 
from my saddle, then all was darkness, and I knew 
no more. When my eyes again unclosed to life and 

light ” she paused, and a faint flush mounted 

to her pallid cheeks, as she continued, “ I saw bend- 
ing over me, with kind solicitude, the man who, 
by the grace of God, with marvelous daring and at 
peril of his own life, had saved mine. Thank him 
and bless him, father, as I have not, and as I fear I 
never can.” As she said this, exhausted she sank 


196 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


back, once more; and Mr. Vivien’s arms were in- 
stantly around Harold St. George’s neck. 

“Oh! my dear Harold,” he cried, “what can I 
say to you? I have loved you always, but now that 
you have brought back to me, from that cruel 
death which would have taken her, my only child, 
words have no power to tell you, what is in my 
grateful heart.” 

“Say nothing, Chester,” Mr. St. George an- 
swered, deeply moved. “I feel that I could not 
have lived to bear you different tidings ; for you 
can not love her more than I do, love her as you 
may.” 

There was such grave earnestness, in both tone 
and manner, that Mr. Vivien looked at him curi- 
ously. Grasping his hand, he shook it warmly and 
said : 

“ God bless you, Harold ; as both boy and man, 
you have been always the most royal friend man 
ever had.” 

Mr. St. George’s face was still aflame with the 
love he had dared so openly to avow. Mrs. Vivien 
saw it ; had heard only too well what he had said, 
and in her heart, there was a pained, miserable feel- 
ing, that all was not as it should be. Clare had 
heard him too, and through all its pain, her heart 
thrilled at the new, sweet meaning of his words. 
She had loved so long, and loved so much ; what 
wonder, that for one blest moment she forgot, that 
he was not her own ; but all too soon the torturing 
truth came back, and through such anguish as only 
women feel, who love unwisely and in vain, she saw 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


19T 


her loved one going, with no wish or hope, even 
if she had dared, to detain him. 

“ I am going now, but I shall come again to- 
morrow, Chester,’’ Mr. St. George said, as he rose, 
and bending over Clare, very tenderly he laid his 
hand upon her head and looked down into the 
shadowy, fathomless eyes, with unutterable longing 
and love. He bowed to Mrs. Vivien, and without a 
word more left the room. 

Instantly both father and mother knelt beside 
their child, and lifted their hearts in silent grati- 
tude, to Almighty God, who in His providence, had 
seen fit to spare them from a great sorrow. 


198 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


UNLOVED FETTERS. 


“O rank black pool, with one star’s imaged form! 
O sweet rich hearted rose, with rot at core! 

O summer Heaven half purpled by stern storm! 

O lily with one white leaf dipt in gore ! 

O angel shape, wherever cdrves and clings 
The awful imminence of a devil’s wings! ” 


— Fawcett. 


N the day following, as he had promised, Mr. 



Vy St. George presented himself at Claremont, 
and asked after the health of the family, but called 
for Miss Tremaine alone. He had come this morn- 
ing to do a thing, that he felt it would be madness, 
longer to leave undone. His face was very pale, but 
in his eyes, there was a resolute defiant look, that 
seemed to challenge fate. He knew that this duty 
which he must perform, not only for his own sake, 
but for the sake of one dearer than life, was a some- 
thing most unusual. 

He was a gentleman, with all fine, generous in- 
stincts, and when Miss Tremaine entered with a 
more than usually $weet smile of welcome, and 
offered him her hand, it was not strange that he 
should feel both shame and hesitation. 

When they were seated, there was an awkward 
pause. She had learned to read his face too well, 
to doubt for a moment, that something of grave im- 


port lay behind it. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


199 


For days she had dreaded, she knew not what, 
and now did not seek to ward it off, as she could do 
so well, but waited in passive silence for whatever 
it might be. 

Although he hesitated, he was too entirely frank 
to long with-hold thoughts that were uppermost in 
heart and brain. 

“ I have known, Maud, for months, that we were 
unsuited to each other,” he said, and his voice was 
low and tremulous; but she saw no trembling in the 
eyes that met hers so unflinchingly, as he continued, 
his voice growing stronger with each word : 

“ I have felt, too, that some motive far removed 
from love had led you first to listen to my vows, 
and at last accept my marriage offer. That my 
punishment is just, I do not for a moment doubt or 
question. Forgive me, but I loved you for your 
matchless beauty, and neither knew, nor sought to 
know, aught of that immortal part of you, that alone 
could be my life’s companion. For §ven these 
charms, that I have never seen surpassed, and rarely 
equalled, must fade with the passing years; but 
that other and better part of you, Time neither dims 
nor blights ; unchanged, it lives on to the grave, 
that is but a gateway through which it passes to an- 
other and fairer life. Think, then, what madness it 
would be, to yoke two souls so widely sundered by 
every taste, emotion, or sympathy, that can inspire 
our actions.” 

He paused, as if for a reply, and looked down 
questioningly at her pallid face and downcast eyes ; 


200 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


but no answer came, and, indeed, she made no sign 
that she had even heard. 

The very foundations of her life seemed moving 
from her, and leaving her in wildest chaos, with no 
anchorage to grasp, and no light to guide her. She 
had expected something most unpleasant, but of 
this mad revolt, .this insolent daring, she had not 
dreamed, and was, in truth, stunned and amazed in- 
to silence. 

Her hands clasped and unclasped a little ner- 
vously, and there was a slight twitching now and 
then of the firmly-closed lips ; but she did not look 
up, and he went on, feeling sorrow at her displeas- 
ure, yet feeling also that he could give her no pain 
half so great, as that which she must feel in an un- 
loved marriage. But beyond all thought of her or of 
himself, was the memory of a pure, proud face, and 
two soul-lit eyes, that had looked such passionate 
tenderness into his. 

“I feel that I have merited your deep disgust, 
and scarcely hope to be forgiven, for having offered 
you a love so unworthy your acceptance.” 

Again he paused, but she was silent still, and 
he continued : 

“ But I beg you to believe, and call Heaven to 
witness, that when I offered you my heart and 
name, I was sincere, and felt that you alone of all 
womankind, could make life blest to me. I was 
blind and mad, with the desire to make your beauty 
mine ; and with the rashness of a passion that I 
blush for now, asked you to be my wife ; but I 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


201 


have lived to know that you do not love me, and to 
feel content that it is so.’ , 

t4 You have said quite enough, Mr. St. George,” 
Miss Tremaine said, in slow, measured tones, and 
lifting her eyes haughtily, she continued : 

“ I understand you well, and know that it is not 
so much that I do not love you, as that you love 
another. You have dishonored me by your vile pro- 
posal, and now would heap dishonor upon dishonor, 
by seeking to forfeit all your vows ; and, let me tell 
you, that the restitution which I demand is, that 
you make me your wife.” 

These words were hissed between her almost 
closed lips, and a demon of rage was in her heart, 
and blazing through her eyes. 

“ You do not, cannot mean this, Maud Tre- 
maine,” Mr. St. George said, shocked beyond all 
expression. 

“ I do mean it,” she answered. 

“ Not when I tell you that I do not and have 
never loved you truly, and know that you loved me 
not even half so well. But more than both of these, I 
love another ; I own that it is true, and love her so 
tenderly that life without her would be a mockery.” 

He was startled by a wild, discordant laugh. 44 She 
is mad,” he thought, and she thought that he was 
madder still, to sit there with those burning words 
upon his lips, fond incense at another’s shrine, and 
dare to hope for mercy from her. 

44 Do you for a moment think, that if it stood 
between me and any end or aim, I would pause to 
consider your happiness, when it is less to me than 


202 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


the lightest breeze that fans my brow ? ” she asked, 
with cold disdain. 

“Can this be the woman to whose worship I 
have well-nigh sacrificed myself?” he thought, but 
answered in a steady voice : 

“You are mercilessly candid, Miss Tremaine, 
but I deserve it, and ask no mercy for 
myself, but for one purer and more innocent 
than either of us. She loves me, all unworthy 
as I am. How I know this, or why, I need not 
say ; but it is no vanity in me to believe, that I 
alone can make her happy. But, to do this, I must 
be freed from vows that bind me only in form.” 

“ Why, then, this waste of words ? ” Miss Tre- 
maine asked, haughtily. 

“ Because you know well that Clare Vivien will 
never listen to my love, until I am freely and honor- 
ably released by you.” 

“I know nothing of the kind, never having 
formed so lofty an opinion of the lady as yourself, 
and do not doubt that she has already listened, not 
once, but often.” 

“ Then you wrong her greatly. Once only I have 
spoken ; when her spirit was almost free from the 
mortality that now enslaves it, I told her all my 
love, and when I speak again, it must be as a free 
and honorable man.” 

“ If this freedom is to come from me, I warn you 
that your hopes are vain, for while I live, I never 
will release you.” 

There was a ring of triumph in the cold, hard 
voice. She felt that she had grappled his fate with 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


203 


hooks of steel, if Clare Vivien were indeed the 
woman he believed her. 

Mr. St. George had risen to his feet, and now 
stood looking at her, icy contempt upon his lips and 
indignation in his eyes. 

“ So,” he said, “ you would force me to make you 
my wife, against every instinct of your own heart 
and mine. If reason did not tell me that you are 
altogether human, I should be tempted to believe 
you something else.” Then a vision came to him of 
that fair and winsome lady in the olden time, who 
wooed the wise Merlin to his ruin ; and in his pres- 
ent mood, he would have scarcely felt amaze at any 
transformation of the incarnate loveliness before 
him. 

A low, rasping, almost fiendish laugh, recalled 
him to himself. 

“ Ay ! you are right,” she said ; “ I am human 
only, and no demon aids me, or else, my lord, I fear 
you would to-day fare ill. For know, Harold St. 
George, that I hate you, and Clare Vivien also ; and 
if by lifting this right hand I could bring happiness to 
both of you, I would see you die of misery, and still 
not lift it. From the hour she was bom I hated 
her, and never sought to win her love. She has 
found no good in me, and has been pleased to dis- 
tort the evil. As a child I was so jealous of my 
mother’s love and care for her, that, sometimes in 
my rage, I could have killed the tiny, wailing crea- 
ture. Until she came, I reigned supreme in every 
heart. Since then my mother’s love has been 
divided, and to father I have been less than nothing. 


204 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Knowing this, need I tell you that as the years 
passed on my hatred grew; and now you ask for 
mercy, where there is no mercy.” 

He shuddered, scarce knowing why, and a great 
wonder came to him, that anything so beautiful was 
ever formed except to bless. An angel form, 
inspired by demon instincts, she no longer seemed 
the woman he had wooed with maddest passion, 
but a being removed from human sympathy by the 
very majesty of her unblessed charms. Long he 
gazed, as if under some weird and wondrous spell ; 
and stripped of all ideality, his misguided life 
confronted him. He saw himself as never before, 
and knew that only his own fanaticism with the 
glamor of an esthetic taste, had hidden from his 
truer sight, a coarseness and sensuality for which he 
loathed himself, in this hour of humiliation. Un- 
mindful of the gem within, he had sought perfection 
in the casket only ; and he felt that no punishment 
could be greater than he deserved. 

At last he broke the silence by asking if he had 
her final answer. 

“Yes! my final answer,” she replied, rising to 
her feet, and lifting her head haughtily. 

“ Then be it so,” he said, as haughtily defiant; 
“both duty and conscience bade me come to you 
first; and I do not regret having done so ; but you 
cannot force me to marry you. For the rest, you 
can do your worst.” He bowed himself out of the 
room, and left the house, feeling in no mood to see 
either Mr. Vivien or Clare. 


.AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


205 


CHAPTER XX, 


A THIRST FOR VENGEANCE. 


“ Revenge is now my joy ! he’s not for me 
And I’ll make sure he ne’er shall he for thee.” 


-Dryden. 


HEN Mr. St. George left Maud Tremaine, 



for a moment she stood quite still with 


clenched teeth and hands ; then with the fury of a 
pythoness rushed up and down the room. Around 
her she saw her shattered dreams, the airy imagery 
of a vain ambition, and hissed through her clenched 


teeth, 


“ I have pawned my soul to the evil one, that I 
might be mistress of Olney Heights, and now in 
one rash hour, with the passion of the brutes have 
lost it. Why did I let him see my heart, I who 
have feigned so much, could well have feigned a 
little more. He does not love me, but I have 
known that always, and doubly hated him, for the 
knowledge. If I could have had time to think, or 
had my anger cooled before I spoke, my rdle should 
have been so different, I should have wooed him at 
least to pity and remorse, thus forging anew, the 
chains my passion has unloosed. 

“ But even now it may not be too late,” she said 
to herself excitedly. “ I will go to father, and to 
Clare, and pour into their listening ears, such a 
tale of woe and grief, as must steel their hearts 


206 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


against him. Then I will recall him, and with the 
witchcraft of a beauty, that even he does not deny, 
will once more woo him to his allegiance. When I 
have sought to win, I have not failed ; why should I 
now ? but if I do,” she thought, grinding her white 
teeth, “ I swear Clare Vivien shall never be his 
wife.” 

Very soon, a most unusual thing for her to do, 
she opened the door of the sitting-room, and enter- 
ing softly, approached Clare, who was lying upon a 
lounge, listening intently to her father, who was 
explaining the uses and mechanism of his new 
machine, which was now completed. 

She asked blandly after her health, and if she 
had experienced no bad effects from yesterday’s 
terrible accident. 

She was in such a softened mood and was so en- 
tirely sympathetic, that as Clare answered : 

“ None thank you, except unusual languor,” she 
could not help feeling a little remorse for past 
opinions, and thought, 

“ Perhaps father is right in thinking there is 
some latent good in her ; but if I have been unjust, 
I have certainly done her no harm.” 

Added to these thoughts, there was a fear, that 
her jealous heart might have led her to magnify the 
evil she had seen, and for the first time in years, she 
felt genuine charity for her beautiful half-sister. 

When Mr. Vivien took the machine to his work 
room, that was next the one they were in, and 
Maud Tremaine fell upon her knees before her, and 
plead wildly, for her breaking heart, her desolate, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


207 


forsaken life, and painted in glowing, words, all that 
she might become as the wife of the man she 
loved ; told her that she had won from his allegi- 
ance, her betrothed, and that on her alone rested all 
her hopes of happiness, she was startled, amazed, 
indignant, but not wholly incredulous as she might 
have been twenty-four hours before. 

“ Get up, Maud, I do not wish you to kneel to 
me,” she said calmly, rising to a sitting posture. 
“If you think I have aught to do with Mr. St. 
George’s annulling his engagement,” she continued, 
“ you are mistaken.” 

“ He has asked you to marry him,” Miss Tre- 
maine said adroitly. 

“ He has done nothing of the kind, and so far as 
I know, never intends to. My own life plans are 
made, and they are widely different from anything 
like that. Before I returned to Olney, I had de- 
cided to go upon the stage, and now, am only 
waiting for my parents’ consent ; and I have a hope 
that it will not be long withheld.” 

Notwithstanding Miss Tremaine’s apparently 
deep grief, at this she laughed loud and long. At 
length she said : 

“ It is I who should be an actress, and not you, 
for I was born one; and it is easier, far, to seem 
what I am not, than what I am, provided always 
that the r61e be brief ; but you, Clare Vivien, have 
no quality that could fit you for the sphere.” 

The young girl flushed slightly as she answered : 

“Better judges than yourself have thought quite 


208 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


differently. I have been preparing for the lyric, and 
not for the dramatic, stage.” 

“ Ah, pardon me ; I had forgotten that wonder- 
ful voice,” Miss Tremaine said, and laughed sarcas- 
tically. 

Without appearing to observe the sarcasm, Clare 
replied : 

“ I have no reason to think it wonderful, yet have 
sufficient confidence in it to attempt the career I 
have chosen ; and if I fail, it shall not be for want 
of perseverance. But be that as it may,” she con- 
tinued, in a chilling voice, “ 1 shall be no man’s 
wife.” These words stabbed her to the heart, even 
while she uttered them, but pride and every instinct 
of her womanhood were in arms against this man, 
and this woman, who so mercilessly intruded upon 
her most sacred feelings and emotions. 

Once more, in memory, she felt his burning lips 
on hers, looked into his eloquent love-lit eyes, and 
heard the music of his voice. She sighed pro- 
foundly, and a pain, both sweet and bitter, thrilled 
and unnerved her. Rising, she passed Maud Tre- 
maine hastily, and did not stop until she reached the 
seclusion of her own room. 

“ Has it come to this ? ” she asked herself with 
grief and shame. “ What might have been, alas, 
can never be ! Oh, Harold,, my lost love, why have 
you opened anew these bleeding wounds? Better, 
almost, to have died, than live to suffer all that 
agony again.” Then, kneeling down, she prayed 
for strength “ to suffer and be still.” 

Miss Tremaine’s wily tongue then poured the 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


209 


same distressful story of broken vows into Mr. 
Vivien’s ears, with this exception, she made no 
mention of his daughter’s name, and left him in 
ignorance of a love that Harold St. George had so 
boldly avowed. 

Mr. Vivien was deeply pained by conduct so un- 
worthy of his friend, but a vague something forbade 
him to condemn unheard one he had loved so long. 

u You need not speak to him of this until I bid 
you,” Miss Tremaine said, as she passed from the 
room, triumphing in the thought that she had driven 
a poisoned arrow to each of these trusting hearts. 

“ Now, Harold St. George,” she said to herself, 
“ if smiles and tears cannot win you back to me, my 
deadliest hate shall keep you far from her.” 

With her subtle instincts and all her knowledge 
of the human heart, she yet undervalued and did 
not comprehend that fine nobility, exquisite tender- 
ness, and loyal, unquestioning faith in one beloved, 
that had well-nigh rendered impervious to her aim 
both Chester Vivien and his daughter. 

The man, with all his simplicity and childlike 
sincerity, was of necessity somewhat tainted by the 
skepticism of the world he had lived in, and was 
scarcely prepared to believe implicitly the state- 
ment of this, or any other beautiful woman, without 
hearing his friend in his own defense. 

Clare knew that in much Maud Tremaine had 
spoken true, and from the depths of her great, 
loving heart pitied the man who, in his rash- 
ness, had sacrificed all hope of happiness. 
Having been trained austerely, she did not for 
0 9 * 


210 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


a moment think that the bitter cup could 
pass him b}'. Honor, duty, integrity, all de- 
manded, she felt, the consummation of his vows. 
It was indeed a bitter cup, bitter as death to her ; 
she had thought it drained to the very dregs, but in 
his suffering drank anew. What Maud Tremaine 
had said she scarcely heeded, for since she had 
thought of it at all, she had felt and known that 
she could not grasp the joy which had come so 
near. 

All day long she did not leave her room, but lay 
prone upon her bed, living over again the agony she 
had hoped to bury ; and when her mother came with 
tender solicitude and said that she must eat, to 
please her, Clare barely tasted what she had 
brought, and said so mournfully : 

“ Mother, I cannot eat, it only chokes me,” that 
Mrs. Vivien left her almost broken-hearted. To 
see this child either sad or suffering, had of late, 
both tortured and unnerved her. 

When morning came again, she was rejoiced to 
see her in her usual seat at the breakfast table, 
looking better than she had done since that fearful 
ride. 

An hour or two later, Mr. Dartmoth called for 
Miss Tremaine. He was still mad enough to have 
the hope of winning his imperious love, even from 
a rich man’s arms. 

“ You do not love this man,” he said, after she 
had confessed the truth to him, “ and yet you are 
his promised wife.” 

She caught the ring of eager pain, in the speak- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


211 


er’s voice, and did not trust herself to answer, but 
walked to the window and looked out. For a 
moment she stood idly tapping upon its panes, and 
then turned and approached Mr. Dartmoth. 

“ Love him,” she said, and with a low sneering 
laugh, she bent nearer ; “ know, Percy Dartmoth, 
that beyond all men, I hate Harold St. George.” 

“ Then in Heaven’s name, why would you marry 
him ? ” he asked with consternation. 

“ First, because he is rich, and I ambitious. 
Second, he has offered me such indignities as no 
man ever did, and I cannot let them go unpun- 
ished. Third, if I do not marry him, he will be 
happy ; I hate him, and that he never shall be. Are 
these not reasons enough ? ” she asked, with that 
cold sneer still upon her lips. 

“ Do you mean to tell me that Harold St. George 
no longer loves you ? ” Mr. Dartmoth asked with 
intense excitement, and she answered : 

“ He has dared to tell me, that he not only did 
not but had never loved me, save with a spurious 
passion for which he blushed ; and more, that he 
loved another.” 

“ Impossible,” Mr. Dartmoth said, with genuine 
incredulity. 

“You may think so, my friend,” she replied, 
looking at him kindly, “but I know to my bitter 
shame that he spoke the truth. Harold St. George 
has been through life an ideal fanatic , aiming loftily, 
yet falling low ; and no experience, however, bitten, 
seems to have won from his perverted faiths, this 
man who in his blind worship of the beautiful, is 


212 AN IDEAL FANATIC. 

unconsciously the slave of his own passions. Yes, 
he has spoken the truth, I am less than nothing to 
him. Maud Tremaine simply clothed for him, the 
ideal that has been the ignis-fatuus of his life.” 

“ Then by all the gods, you shall not marry 
him,” he said, wildly excited ; “ for I will save you 
even from yourself. I have not gold to match with 
his ; but I have these strong arms to defend you 
from such infamy, and this brain to win you a sup- 
port. Oh ! my darling, listen to me while it is not 
too late; be to me what no other woman can be, 
my loved and worshiped wife.” 

With outstretched hands, and pleading words he 
was bending near her, his face and form inspired 
and radiant with that deathless passion, which for 
months, had illumined her benighted way. She 
knew well what he had been to her and what he 
was ; and nearer than she had ever come to loving 
any man, she had come to loving him. But that 
rapture women feel in men’s acknowledged love, 
who in return, love them, with purest passion, and 
entire abandoment of self, Maud Tremaine did not 
feel, and was incapable of ever feeling. Beyond all 
created things she loved herself, and whatever could 
minister to her pleasure ; but to-day, this man’s 
love touched her as it had never done. Looking at 
him with a tender warmth in her beautiful eyes, she 
laid her hand softly in his, and said in a sweet low 
voice : 

. “Percy Dartmoth, of all those who have loved 
me, I have felt pity and sorrow, only for you ; and 
more than any other I have loved you.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


213 


“If this be true, break this miserable engage- 
ment at once ,and be my own, my wife,” he said 
with agitation, and seized both her hands. 

Drawing them away from him, she answered 
sadly : 

“If I had met you long ago, when it was not 
indeed 4 too late,’ how different it might have been 
with me ; but now, to marry you, would be impos- 
sible.” 

“ Why impossible ? ” he asked, “ since you do 
not love the man to whom you are promised.” 

“ I hate him, it is true,” she said, “ but I love 
you, far too much, to drag you into my unhallowed 
life. If there be one generous instinct in my heart 
it is this.” Then with more fondness than she had 
ever shown him, she laid her white hand upon his 
bowed head and left it there, while she continued in 
the same melodious voice : 

“ Were I to marry you, the day might come, and 
all too soon, when you would loathe and curse me, 
for having done so.” 

“ Never ! I swear,” he said, lifting his head 
firmly, “ be mine, and only death shall part us. ” 

46 Alas! my friend, my one true love, you know 
not what madness you ask ; but I who know so well 
and fear so much, must save you from it,” she an- 
swered, in the sweetest and saddest of voices. 

For once in her life she was sincere, and if she 
could have undone that wretched past, might have 
sacrificed her hopes of grandeur to his love. Tears 
of genuine grief were dimming her beautiful eyes 
They half maddened him, and he cried : 


214 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Oh ! Maud, darling, do not make this miserable 
marriage ; let him go free.” 

A change came over the mournful face, all soft- 
ness and sadness, seemed to leave it ; the lips com- 
pressed and hardened, and into the eyes came a bale- 
ful light, as she answered fiercely : 

“Never! for even were ambition dead, my thirst 
for vengeance can not die, and mark me, I could 
wreak no surer on this proud man, than to become 
his wife. But failing in this, armed with every 
shaft hatred can point, while life lingers, I shall 
stand between Harold St. George, and the happi- 
ness he covets.” 

“ Maud, Maud, you must be mad, no sane woman 
could ever feel and speak, as you are doing.” Then 
stretching forth his arms to her imploringly, he 
plead wildly: 

“ Come to me, darling, let me save you from this 
horror. This very hour, say but the word, my own, 
my love, and I will take you far, from even the 
memory of woe.” 

He was so grand in his strength, so all protecting 
in his love and tenderness, that she could not help 
feeling that she would find both rest and peace, in 
those fond arms, if only it were not too late. She 
hesitated, faltered, and in a moment more, his arms 
were around her, and her proud head, bowed above 
the heart which beat for her alone. Tenderly he 
lifted the drooping face, and on those perfect lips 
that were denied to Harold St. George, pressed love’s 
first kiss; but scarce had felt its ecstacy, when, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


215 


drawing herself away from him, she said, in a voice 
that sounded to him like the wail of a lost spirit : 

“ Percy Dartmoth, that was our first and last em- 
brace ; and in the years to come, when you may 
hear my name branded with the vilest, remember 
what I tell you now, that no man’s lips but yours, 
have ever touched mine, and this one kiss shall 
never leave them, but pure and undefiled go with 
them to the grave. Farewell, and — it is best — , 
fare well — forever . ’ ’ 

Before the stunned, unhappy man divined her 
meaning, she was gone. 

Knowing how useless it would be to remain 
longer — when once more he had regained his shat- 
tered self-command, mystified by the strangeness of 
both her words and manner, broken in spirit and 
almost hopeless, he returned to Olney. 


216 


AN IDEAL FANATIC, 


CHAPTER XXI 


LOVE PLEADS WITH LOVE, 


44 His whole being seemed to cling to her, as though 
He divined that, in some unaccountable way, 

His happier destinies secretly lay 

In the light of her dark eyes. And still in his mind, 

To the anguish of losing the woman was joined 
The terror of missing his life’s destination, 

Of which, as in mystical representation, 

The love of the woman, whose aspect benign 
Guided, starlike, his soul, seemed the symbol and sign. 
For he felt, if the light of the star he should miss, 

That there lurked in his nature, concealed, an abyss, 
Into which all the current of being might roll 
Devastating a life, and submerging a soul.” 


— Owen Meredith. 


R. ST. GEORGE did not long delay making 



TVJ_ his appearance again at Claremont, and this 
time walked straight into the library, where, as he 
had hoped, he found both Clare and Mr. Vivien. 

At first there was unusual constraint between 
them, but this soon wore awajr, and when Mr. St. 
George insisted upon Clare’s going to the .parlor, 
and singing with him, some of their old favorites, 
they seemed once more, the old-time friends. After 
he was silent she sang on with nervous haste, as 
if fearing or dreading, to be quiet, -and alone with 
him. 

She heard him say at last: 

“ Clare, Clare ! I can no longer bear this torture 
of suspense. Speak to me, darling,” he continued in 
a low, pleading voice. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


217 


Wilder and wilder beat her heart, until with one 
great tearless sob she turned to him and asked in a 
trembling voice : 

“ What would you have me say to you, Mr. St. 
George ? ” 

44 Bid me live, for love and you,” he answered, 
bending near her, eager passion in both tone and 
look. 

44 Alas ! I can not,” she replied, in a weary, hope-, 
less tone, and lifting her mournful eyes to his, con- 
tinued, 44 If in your heart, you have no feeling of re- 
morse, at least you should have more pity for me, 
than to subject me to this needless pain.” 

44 Oh ! my love, my love, do not speak to me like 
that ; there is no humiliation, no remorse, that I 
have not endured, for the sake of that brief madness, 
which brought me not even the happiness of an 
hour. I have confessed the truth to Maud Tremaine, 
and told her that I loved you, darling, as I had 
loyed no other woman.” 

44 It must have been a bitter thing for you to say, 
and bitterer for her to hear,” she answered, bowing 
her head upon her hands. 

Without replying to what she had said, he con- 
tinued : 

44 From the first, I feared that she did not love me, 
and for months I have known it. Now that she 
knows there is no love between us, what motive 
leads her to still desire the fulfillment of our engage- 
ment, I have no means of knowing, unless it be one 
too paltry, pardon me, even to mention in your 
presence.” 


10 


218 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


• As he said this, his lip curled contemptuously. 

Clare looked up at him questioningly. Having 
an intuition of his thought, she flushed slightly as 
she asked r 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

u I mean that if it is gold she covets, she is wel- 
come to it, even to the half of my estate ; and I shall 
certainly make her the offer, as I have tried all 
other arguments in vain ; and she still boldly affirms, 
that I must keep my vows. She cannot force me to 
marry her, and I told her so. In all the world, 
there is but one woman, who can ever be my wife, 
and to win her I would give my earthly kingdom, 
and all that ambition ever cherished.’’ 

He stopped and laying his hand tenderly upon 
the bowed young head, asked softly : 

“ My love, is there no hope ? ” 

Maud Tremaine she had never loved, and indeed, 
had had no cause to do so ; but none the less, she 
was her sister, and for her sake, she was filled with 
burning shame, and when she felt his touch, shud- 
dered as if it were unhallowed. The breaking of 
these vows, that were to her, little less sacred than 
the marriage vows themselves, seemed sacrilege in 
the sight of Heaven ; and so well she had been 
trained in these strict tenets, that while her noble 
heart, divined the truth and purity of his love for 
her, pitied, forgave and comprehended an error that 
was only human, believed in the misery and mock- 
ery of such a union, from this labyrinth of woe, 
she saw no honorable escape for him, and answered 
sadly : 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


219 


“ There is no hope.” 

For one moment he sat speechless and motionless. 
Then seizing her hands, he asked appealingly : 

“ Clare, little one, have you no longer any love 
in your heart for me ? no pity, no forgiveness, that 
you can so mercilessly consign me to this misery ? ” 

She did not draw her hands away, but looked at 
him with ineffable yearning tenderness, as she 
answered : 

“If I could save you from this sorrow, God 
knows I would, for I do pity you deeply and have 
nothing to forgive ; but I have no power to do so, 
and you only torture, when you offer me your love.” 

“ You are cruel, my darling, to think and feel like 
this. If I had wooed her from pure wantonness, 
and then discarded her from no fault of her own, I 
would be base indeed ; but you know well, this is 
not true. When I asked her to be my wife, Heaven 
knows I did desire it ; but the woman I wooed and 
seemed to win, was not Maud Tremaine, but a 
creation of my own mad fancy, shrined in her per- 
fect form ; and day by day, as we knew each other 
better, the scales fell from our eyes, and at last we 
saw each other as we were, and knew that conti- 
nents apart we would be happier than together. If 
she ever loved me, she has long ceased to do so, and 
now confesses, that she hates me bitterly. 

“ I, my darling, learned, too late to save me from 
my folly, that even before I knew her, I loved an- 
ofher, with my heart’s best and truest affection ; 
and in those dark hours when we waited and watch- 
ed, fearing that pure spirit’s flight, I suffered the 


220 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


agony of a thousand deaths. Oh ! listen to me, 
dearest ! do not turn away, and if you love me, be 
mine, my own true wife.” 

As she did not answer, he continued : 

“I cannot commit such blasphemy against my 
manhood, and every instinct of my 'heart, as I now 
know this marriage with Maud Tremaine would be. 
Yet no man could deplore more bitterly than I, our 
terrible mistake ; more even for her sake than my 
own ; but knowing that mistake, I hold it the nobler 
and wiser part to undo what we have done, before 
it is too late.” 

“Is it not already that? ” Clare asked in a fal- 
tering voice. 

“ No ! a thousand times no,” he answered, almost 
fiercely, moving nearer to her and still holding her 
hands tightly clasped in his. 

“I cannot find it in my heart to censure you,” 
she said, “ and in your freedom wish you all the joy 
man ever finds in life ; but I implore you, by the 
memory of past friendship, to leave me in peace, 
since I can be nothing to you, followed ever by a 
sister’s wrongs. I have, perhaps, already wronged 
her in thought, but in this I will not wrong her, for 
if there be any truth in woman, she loves you. 
Only yesterday, on her knees, she avowed it ; and 
when she told you that she hated you, it was no 
doubt in the delirium of passion.” 

She said no more, but looked up at him through 
blinding tears. 

His face was ashen gray, in the fine eyes there 
was a look of desolate pain, and deep lines seemed 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


221 


furrowed around the expressive mouth. As if the 
blight of years had come to him in these few 
moments, he sat a bowed and broken man. Hope- 
less, because he felt that all had been said that could 
be, and she was still unconvinced. He had learned, 
too, of Maud Tremaine’s treachery, and knew that 
his unaided strength would be no match for her wily 
cunning. 

“Already that masterpiece of acting,” he 
thought, “ has wrought her evil will upon Clare’s 
generous heart.” 

His features worked convulsively, twice he at- 
tempted to speak, but from his drawn dips there 
came no sound. She saw his agony, felt him shud- 
der, then her hands fell from his nerveless clasp. 
These moments of awful silence were an eternity of 
pain to her loving heart. 

Mad thoughts were rioting in his brain, deeper 
and darker grew his despair ; and when, involun- 
tarily, Clare reached forth her hands, and looking 
at him with imploring eyes, said : 

“ Speak to me, say anything, but do not look like 
that,” in a voice hoarse with misery he did speak, 
and startled her by such bitterness as she had never 
heard from him. 

“ Clare Vivien,” he said, “you have never loved 
me, or else you could not doom me to this woe. 
What you have felt for me, was only the puny fancy 
of a dreaming girl, that my own heart and its de- 
sires has glorified into a woman’s love, and on this 
frail foundation I have built all my hopes of happi- 


222 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


ness, only to see them once more miserably 
wrecked.” 

He stopped, arrested by the unutterable anguish 
in the young face that was so dear to him. 

“ Oh ! my God, forgive him. Thou knowest all 
his grief,” she said. 

At once he felt remorse for his mad words, and 
would have gladly recalled them. 

“ Forgive me, Clare, I am beside myself with 
this unlooked-for misery,” he said, once more taking 
in his her cold and trembling hands. 

“ Oh, my love, m}^ love,” he continued, “ listen 
to my pleading, and to the voice of your own heart ; 
think of the long, desolate years that will come to 
both of us, and have mercy.” 

Nearer he came to her and wilder plead, nor left 
a prayer unsaid that love could frame. 

She was tortured beyond the power to speak, 
but through all the torture felt untold bliss, 
in knowing herself beloved. She saw his tender, 
imploring eyes, heard his sweet and wooing words, 
and present and future woe almost forgotten, felt 
that she was indeed yielding to her heart, and to 
that pleading voice. Back to the marble face the 
life-blood rushed, and into the mournful eyes leaped 
the splendor of a matchless passion. 

He felt her hands trembling in his, and seeing 
those love-lighted eyes, no longer doubted that in 
both heart and mind she was indeed his own. The 
rapture of that thrilling glance awakened hope once 
more. 

“ My life, my all,” he murmured, “ T felt that you 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


223 


were less or more than human, to resist such happi- 
ness as this,” and in the ecstacy of passion drew her 
to him. 

“ Since Heaven denies to me this joy,” she said 
at last, in a low unsteady voice, “beloved, it would 

be sweet to die now — and thus , oh ! sweeter 

far than to live on, and live without you.” 

Then shuddering with the memory of woes, that 
for one blest moment had been forgotten, she drew 
herself away from his encircling arms, and stood 
erect, cold, pale, motionless ; all color faded from 
her face, and in her eyes the unutterable pathos of 
a great despair. So swift and terrible was the 
change that dazed and wondering, he listened, as 
she said : 

“ In my madness, conscience, duty, Heaven itself 
have been forgotten, and I remembered only, that 
I loved, and was beloved. Tempt me no more — for 
I suffer — , oh, God I suffer — !” and tottering she 
grasped a chair for support. 

Her pallid and suffering face terrified Mr. St. 
George. 

“You are ill, darling,” he said, with deep agita- 
tion, as he approached her; “let me call some one, 
or take you to your father.” 

“I will go to my room,” she said, in tones so 
sad, that he begged remorsefully to be forgiven, for 
all the misery he had brought her. 

She did not answer him in words, but once more 
through her eyes, there beamed upon him, the lumi- 
nous light of a deathless love. For one moment only, 
she stood transfigured to sublimest beauty, then 


224 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


passed out into the hall, and slowly ascended the 
stairway. He watched and listened until he knew 
that she had reached her room in safety, and drop- 
ping into the nearest chair, battled in vain, with his 
contending passions and emotions. Overcome at 
last, he groaned aloud : 

“ My punishment is greater than I can bear.” 

For one long dark hour, he scarcely moved ; and 
when he regained his wonted calm, with pallid face, 
and swollen eyes, went to Chester Vivien and con- 
fessed the mournful truth ; concealing nothing from 
him, and in no wise seeking to palliate his own mad 
folly. 

In his friend’s noble, kindly heart, he found pity 
for his suffering, charity for his misguided passions, 
and forgiveness for the evil he had brought to one, 
dearer than life to both. 

“ It is all so sudden and unexpected, that I can 
give you no advice to-day,” Mr. Vivien said, when 
there had been a moment’s pause. 

“How little I dreamed of this, Harold,” he con- 
tinued sadly, laying his hand upon his friend’s 
bowed head ; “ but it is all clear to me now ; my 
daughter’s grief and broken heart. She was such a 
child, such a child,” he repeated, “ who would have 
thought to find a woman’s heart.” Feeling deep 
sorrow, for the suffering he knew was genuine, he 
then said: 

“ Look up Harold, my friend, do not despair, for 
into this darkness light may come ; God knows best 
and fits our burdens to us. I feel that my child’s 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


pure instincts, will guide her to her duty. Let us 
make that duty no harder to perform.” 

Mr. St. George made no answer for some moments. 
He felt so entirely hopeless, that he could take no 
comfort even from this loyal friend, whose delicate 
position, as father and stepfather, he fully compre- 
hended. Turning to him at last, he said : 

“ If Miss Tremaine has not told her, your wife 
knows nothing of this, Chester, and it is needless 
that she should, until concealment is no longer pos- 
sible. I shall see Miss Tremaine again ; it may be 
that grown calmer, she will be more inclined to 
listen with reason ; but I confess, I have little 
hope. To-day I am unfit to see her, but to-morrow 
I will come. Go to our darling, Chester, tell her 
that you know all, let her suffer no longer in silence. 
Good-by, may Heaven bless you for your kind 
words, and kinder heart.” 

Tears dimmed Chester Vivien’s eyes, as he saw 
him go, so utterly forlorn himself, yet remembering 
with such fond solicitude, another’s woe. As he 
had bidden him, he went at once to his suffering 
child. Opening the door he entered softly, and 
found her upon the floor, sobbing in wildest agony. 
At first, she did not hear him, and did not heed 
him, even when he spoke, but lifting her gently in 
his arms, he laid her upon the bed, soothed her with 
every art affection knows ; and with tender delicacy 
revealed at last that Harold St. George, had told him 
all. When he left, her heart was less burdened than 
it had been for months. The feeling that there 
was no longer any need for concealment from one 
P 


226 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


to whom she had been always dearer than life itself, 
was such intense relief, to her naturally frank, in- 
genuous mind, that she was abler to bear her burden ; 
and indeed was comforted, as her father had little 
hope of comforting her. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC, 


227 


CHAPTER XXII, 


THE LAST RESORT, 


“ "While thus from way’ ring thought to thought he flies, 
Revolves, and re-revolves, the eager maid 
Fixed on his downcast face her pleading eyes, 

And its least workings breathlessly surveyed; 

And when his answer longer was delayed 

Than she had hoped, she trembled, drooped and sighed; 

Her quivering lips the heart’s alarm betrayed.” 


—Tasso. 


AUD TREMAINE knew of Mr. St. George’s 



last visit, and suspected much of what had 
really occurred. For, little capable of self-sacrifice 
as she was herself, she did not for a moment doubt 
Clare’s answer to her lover. Having not yet lost 
faith in her own omnipotent beauty, she hoped that 
Mr. St. George, would ask for her before leaving; 
that she might make one last effort to regain her 
lost position. In her anger, vengeance seemed quite 
enough; but when again her own true self, she 
listened to ambition’s voice ; in fancy saw the almost 
royal home which had been prepared for her, and 
felt that it would be wildest folly to give it up, 
without one struggle more. 

“ To be mistress of Olney Heights, its master 
must be mine,” she thought, and in her vehemence 
called aloud : 

“Oh, Fate ! help me to win him back, with pity, 
love or fear ; it matters not which, so I but win 


228 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


As well as she knew that this marriage which 
she urged, would be a crime against all moral law, 
she knew that human law would ably protect and 
defend her, were she to appeal to it, for justice or 
retribution. 

But she was too proud to do anything like that, 
even for the gold she coveted. Conscience, honor, 
truth and all that makes life worth the living, 
already she had sacrificed at its unholy shrine ; but 
the world’s esteem, and good opinion was a price 
she could not pay. 

“ If I could only see him,” she thought, “ now 
that he knows there is no hope with Clare, I believe 
that I could mold him to my will.” 

Having no capacity to comprehend the real 
strength of soul, and genuine nobility of this man, 
who had been tempted by her beauty, led on, and 
well nigh destroyed ; she undervalued him, and 
deceived herself, with hopes that were the offspring 
of a vanity, she would have herself despised, as the 
weakness of a silly woman. But she rfested secure 
in the belief, that nature had placed her beyond the 
possibility of such a weakness. Beside this, in her 
long career, she had met so little opposition, from 
either men or women, that she had no line of 
strategy marked out, for this open and bold rebel- 
lion, that was altogether new to her. Long before, 
she had discovered this man’s weakness, and her 
experience had taught her, no matter how falsely, 
that these very weaknesses oftenest governed men’s 
lives. What wonder then, that with her still 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


229 


unshaken faith in her own powers, even this thing 
which she wished, should seem possible. 

Strong in her beliefs, she wrote him a dainty 
little note, asking him to come on the morrow, and 
signed it, “yours in deep distress.” 

Mr. St. George came as she desired, and as he 
had himself intended. Never had he seen her more 
beautiful ; she was all grace and softness ; a little 
melancholy in her drooping eyes and quivering on 
her lips. 

He listened unmoved to all her pleading, saw 
every art she employed to win, and comprehended 
her aims and motives. He had not expected any- 
thing like this, but manifested no surprise, and 
heard her in silence. Even when with clasped 
hands and tender imploring eyes, she looked up at 
him and asked if he had no word of comfort for her, 
he still hesitated. What could he say to her, how 
reveal all that was in his mind. He could not for- 
get that she was a woman, and one too, that he had 
once hoped to make his wife, and he shuddered and 
recoiled at thought of the degrading proposal he 
had come to make. 

She was watching him intently, and saw his 
hesitation, but ascribed it to feelings widely differ- 
ing from the true ones. She came nearer to him, 
sighed profoundly, and laid her soft' white hand on 
his, caressingly. Once, that touch would have 
thrilled to his inmost being ; but now he shuddered 
and an icy pain shot to his heart. Only a moment 
more he hesitated ; for believing it to be his last 
hope of a peaceable solution to this wretched en- 


230 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


tanglement, he plunged boldly into the unpleasant 
subject, and offered to have his estate valued and 
divided, giving her one-half, to be hers through life, 
and at her death, to be conveyed to whom she 
pleased. He talked rapidly, excitedly, and did not 
watch her face ; therefore, was not prepared for the 
storm of rage and fury, that burst upon him, as he 
finished. 

She wrung her hands, she wept, she walked the 
floor, and called on Heaven to witness her deep 
humiliation. 

He cowered before her justly offended pride, and 
begged for her forgiveness. 

“ On this side of the grave I never will forgive 
you, Harold St. George, 5 ’ she said with bitter em- 
phasis; “ If you can , free yourself from your marriage 
vows, but with my consent, you never will be free. 
I have borne enough already, but this is the 
crowning infamy of all. Are you so mad as to be- 
lieve, that for the paltry things you offer me, I 
could let my vengeance pass, and send you forth, 
the happy lover of a rival whom I hate ? I cannot 
force you to marry me, you have said it, but I can , 
and will prevent your marrying her.” 

In vain he urged her to hear him, in vain he told 
her, that the world should think she had discarded 
him, and that it should never know the price he 
paid for freedom; she was too much enraged to 
listen. 

“The preparations for our marriage shall goon,” 
she almost hissed, “ and on our wedding day, you 
can be a truant bridegroom if you choose.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


231 


Then she laughed sardonically, and told him that 
she thought their interview might as well end, as she 
saw no good could come from prolonging it. He 
rose at once, bowed haughtily, and left her, full as 
much outraged, as she was herself. 

“ What manner of woman can she be,” he 
thought. “ If she ever had a soul, surely she must 
have bartered it to the arch fiend, in exchange for 
those evil, but surpassing charms, that seem to cast 
some blight on all who look upon them.” 

From Miss Tremaine, Mr. St. George went to 
Chester Vivien, told him all that had occurred, and 
that he had no longer any hope of mercy from Maud 
Tremaine ; but implored him to intercede for him 
with Clare. 

“ Do not ask me to do that, Harold,” Mr. Vivien 
answered, “ for I can but feel that my child is right. 
I do not censure your determination, for feeling as 
you do, and as you believe my step-daughter to feel, 
it would be madness for you to marry her. Of 
course your position is an embarrasing one, as you 
do not like to take the initiative, and say to the 
world, my engagement is at end, and she will not. 
Hence I see no way to cut the Gordian knot, but 
for you to go away ; and before going, arrange your 
affairs, that you may leave them for an indefinite 
time. It hurts me, my friend, to give you this ad- 
vice, but I have looked at the matter from every 
point of view, and can see no other wise course open 
to you, if Maud still foolishly persists in concealing 
your broken engagement. Were you to go T I be- 
lieve her pride would compel her to make some 


232 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


explanation that would not be disparaging to you, 
or to herself.” 

“If she were to do so, could it have any weight 
with Clare?” Mr. St. George asked, looking up 
eagerly. 

“ Alas ! I fear not,” Mr. Vivien answered, shaking 
his head sadly, “ for if Maud be the woman I am 
led to believe her, from all that you have told me ; 
failing to have ambition gratified, she will let no- 
thing pass, that can accomplish her revenge. Al- 
ready she has told her ingenious story to her sister, 
and told it with such consummate art, that few 
could doubt its truth. While I know that Clare 
pities you profoundly, and loves you tenderly, I also 
know that she pities, as you and I could never pity, 
the woman who has lost your love.” 

Mr. St. George groaned audibly, but in his hope- 
lessness made no answer, feeling that his friend’s 
fears were only too well founded. Soon after he 
rose to go, and said gravely, as he took Mr. Vivien’s 
hand : 

“ I will think of what you have said to me, Ches- 
ter, and when I have decided on my future course, 
will let you know that decision at once ; until then 
— farewell.” 

Without more words, they parted, and Harold 
St. George bore home a dreary hopeless heart. He 
could not think with calmness of an exile, that seemed 
little less to him, than with his own hands shut- 
ting himself out of his earthly paradise, and two 
weeks passed, each day freighted with despair and 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


283 


doubt, before he decided to do as Mr. Vivien had 
advised. 

In little more than a week, the wedding day 
would arrive ; and Miss Tremaine had seen fit to let 
all preparations go on undisturbed. 

Mrs. Vivien was astonished at Mr. St. George’s 
prolonged absence, but not dreaming of the real 
truth, was compelled to accept her daughter’s care- 
less and evasive answer, when she asked its meaning; 
that as he was very much engaged, and knowing 
she would be also, she had told him she would ex- 
cuse him until the appointed time. Then she 
laughed that insolent provoking laugh, which alarmed 
her mother always, and now doubly so, when 
the poor woman was half distracted, with her doubts 
and fears. 

In these sad days, Clare seldom left her father’s 
side. Within the walls of Claremont, she felt sti- 
fled, and out of doors as much as possible they 
passed their time : finding in the glory of advancing 
autumn, some little relief from the ominous chill 
that seemed clinging to their hearthstone. 

She knew from her father of Mr. St. George’s 
determination to go away, and while she suffered 
deeply, approved of his intention. Her strange, 
unnatural position, and a vague terror of the future, 
were fast destroying her newly-regained health and 
strength. At every unexpected sound she would 
start and tremble, dreading, yet knowing not what 
she dreaded, for the very air seemed burdened with 
the sighs of suffering hearts. 

Effort after effort Percy Dartmoth made to see 

10 * 


234 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Miss Tremaine, but they were all in vain ; and day 
after day he grew more madly desperate, writing 
to her wild, miserable appeals, begging her to fly 
with him, far from the possibility of her vengeance 
and the unholy crime she would commit ; but no 
answer reached him, and he, too, watched and 
waited, fearing the worst evil that he believed could 
come to him, yet still defying fate, and through all 
his despair there was some gleam of hope. 




AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


235 


CHAPTER XXIH 


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST, 


“And if we do but watch the hour. 
There never yet was human power, 
Which could evade, if unforgiven, 
The patient search, and vigil long, 
Of him who treasures up a wrong.” 


—Byron. 


HEN Mr. St. George had once made up his 



mind that it was best and right that he 


should leave, he went rapidly at his preparations for 
departure. It was a most bitter thing for him to do, 
and he felt it in every throb of his tortured heart, to 
leave once more home, love, and almost everything 
that made life dear. 

He had only a moment before returned from a 
farewell inspection of his estate, and sat, his head 
resting dejectedly on one gloved hand, deep in 
sombre thought, when his servant handed him a 
card, which its owner followed. 

“ Sydney Alton,” Mr. St. George read, and, 
looking up, his own met a pair of dark, and at this 
moment by no means pleasant, eyes. 

“Mr. St. George, I presume,” the stranger said, 
bowing. 

“ Yes,” that gentleman answered ; “ but I believe 
I have not the honor of your acquaintance, sir.” 

Pointing to his card he said: 

“ My name is Alton.” 


236 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ I perceived that it was,” Mr. St. George an- 
swered, and looking questioningly at him, pushed 
a chair toward him, and asked him to be seated. 

“ Being a stranger, you would, no doubt, like to 
know to what circumstance you are indebted for 
this visit,” Mr. Alton said, and his listener fancied 
neither tone nor words. 

“ I have heard, sir,” he continued, “ that you 
were about to marry a lady calling herself Maud 
Tremaine. Is it true? he asked, almost fiercely, 
and as fiercely Mr. St. George asked : 

“By whose authority do you question me, sir? ” 

His strange guest bent towards him with flashing 
eyes, and passion-distorted face, and through his 
clenched teeth hissed : 

“ By the authority of the lady’s husband.” 

Mr. St. George started visibly, and said : 

“ You are mad ; Miss Tremaine has no husband.” 

The dark face he was watching flushed hotly, 
and into the eyes flashed demoniac fires ; but a 
fiendish laugh was his only answer, and there was 
silence for a moment. Mr. St. George was fearfully 
angry, and the intruder saw it. 

“ Your base insinuation is a monstrous lie,” he 
said, “and you are its vile inventor.” 

He did not remember, in his generous defense of 
a woman, that this one was his bitterest foe ; and 
even if he had, was far too knightly in his instincts, 
to let such calumny pass unnoted. 

A wrathful silence followed these words. The 
stranger looked at him, with fierce, dilating eyes, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


237 


and said at last, in a voice that was firm, but hoarse 
with passion • 

“ What I have said is true as Heaven. For 
six long years Maud Alton, not Tremaine, has been 
my wedded wife.” 

“ Impossible ! ” Mr. St. George answered, stag- 
gered by the man’s tragic earnestness, but by no 
means believing him. 

“ This is one of her lovers that she has lured on 
with her sorceries, and betrayed, at last, to madness,” 
he thought, and felt a throb of pity for her victim. 

“ You are a madman, I see that plainly, and I do 
not care to listen to your ravings,” he said, more 
calmly than he had spoken yet ; and rising, as if to 
go, stood waiting for the unwelcome guest to go 
also. 

But Mr. Alton did not leave his seat, and instead, 
said earnestly and with far less anger: 

“ If you will sit down, Mr. St. George, and listen 
to me, I will convince you not only that I am sane, 
but that I speak the solemn truth. Until I do con- 
vince you, I shall not leave you.” 

Mr. St. George did not doubt that he was mad, 
but thinking that it might be wiser to indulge him, 
sat down, and Mr. Alton began his story : 

“ It has been seven years,” he said, “ since I first 
met Maud Tremaine. She was a girl of sixteen, 
and unless she has changed greatly, how beautiful 
you must know. I was the only child of an only 
parent, the idol of a father’s heart ; and so far as 
he knew, no wish of mine was left ungratified. Alas ! 
I fear I repaid him ill, ‘ Heaven rest his soul ! ’ From 


233 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


the first hour I saw Maud Tremaine, I loved her 
madly, and at last, won I now know, by the glitter 
of gold she never grasped, she promised to be my 
wife. 

“ My father bitterly opposed our union, and her 
aunt hated me for follies, that might have been for- 
given to my youth, and denied me entrance to her 
house. 

“ Maud attended school, and I saw her daily, 
either as she would go or return. I urged my suit 
with frantic desperation, and painted in glowing 
colors, the life of opulent luxury we would lead, 
until aided, no doubt, by my father’s opposition and 
the glory of triumphing over him, she consented 
to ifiarry me ; but urged that neither her aunt, nor 
my father, should know anything of our intentions 
until we were already married. I knew myself, how 
earnestly they opposed our marriage, and believing, 
that they would do all in their power to prevent it, 
gladly acquiesced in her suggestion, and procuring 
a license, met her one day as she returned from 
school. A carriage was waiting near, we entered it, 
and soon reached Jersey City and the church we 
had selected, where in the presence of two friends of 
my own, we were married. Returning at once to 
New York, she was delayed so short a time, that 
her aunt, who was herself out, finding her at home 
on her return, never suspected that she had been 
delayed at all. 

“ Maud was to confess to her aunt what she had 
done, that night or the following morning, and I was 
to tell my father, never doubting his generous in- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


239 


diligence, even though for the first time he had op- 
posed my wish.” 

The speaker’s breath seemed labored, for a mo- 
ment he paused, as if overcome, by the rush of 
emotions, that he had been crowding back. 

At last in a broken voice, he continued : 

“ That night, she had no opportunity to tell her 
aunt, as company engaged her until it was too late, 
and the next morning, all New York was startled, 
by a terrible failure, dark rumors of defalcation and 
a sudden death. 

“ When I reached home, I went straight to my 
father’s room, and found him walking the floor, in 
such deep agitation, that I surmised at once, that 
he had heard of my marriage, or suspected it ; but 
when, feeling deep remorse, I asked him what was 
troubling him, and he answered : 

“ ‘ Nothing that you can help, my poor boy,’ I 
knew that I was mistaken. 

“ To know that he was already greatly troubled, 
increased my reluctance, to tell him that which I 
knew would be an added pain ; but feeling it to be 
a necessity, I plunged at once into my confession, 
urging every plausible pretext in extenuation of our 
conduct. He heard me in silence to the end, and 
then a deep, heartfelt groan, was his only answer. 
For the first time in my life, I felt truly and deeply 
remorseful, for having grieved him, and begged 
hnmbly for his forgiveness. 

“ ‘Alas! my dear son,’ he said at last, in a voice 
husky with emotion, ‘you need my pity, far more 
than my forgiveness, for I fear that this rash act, will 


240 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


cost you years of misery. God grant that my fears 
may prove unfounded, and that I may have been 
unjust, to this girl whom you have made your wife. 
All too soon her truth and constancy will be put to 
the severest test ; for Sydney, you and I are beggars, 
ay ! worse than beggars. To retrieve my ’failing for- 
tunes I have used money, not my own, never once 
dreaming that I would not be able to repay it ; but 
overwhelming disaster after disaster, have seemed 
to pursue me, and to-night I am a ruined, disgraced, 
and broken-hearted man.’ 

“ His breathing seemed labored and difficult, and 
as he ceased to speak, his head fell forward, and 
rested upon the table on which he leaned. I saw a 
quick shudder pass over him, heard alow groan, and 
stepping to his side laid my hand upon his head, and 
asked if he was not ill ; but he neither moved nor 
spoke. I felt his cold hands and looked into his 
sightless eyes, then called aloud for help. Soon the 
entire household were around him. I sent for a 
physician, but in the meantime we used every 
remedy known to us, to resuscitate him. Alas ! it 
was all in vain, my father was dead; truly of a 
broken heart. 

“ That my grief was deep and poignant, I need 
not tell you, for he was my first and last earthly 
friend, I having known no mother. When I had 
laid him tenderly beside my long-dead mother, once 
more my thoughts turned to the young wife I had 
not seen since my deep grief, and I had not even 
received a line of sympathy from her. I supposed, 
of course, that she had told her aunt, and I could 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


241 


form no idea of the treatment she had received. I 
went to the house and asked for her, not knowing 
that she would be there. The servant informed me 
that Miss Tremaine was at school. That looked to 
me very much as if she and her aunt were still 
friends. I was so impatient to see her, that for 
hours I walked up and down the streets on which I 
had met her so often. 

At last I saw her coming towards me. I knew 
she had seen me, for she faltered and almost stop- 
ped, then came slowly on and met me. She was 
very pale, and there was a strange glitter in her 
beautiful eyes. She did not speak, and I took her 
hand and asked : 

44 Have you no word of love or pity for me, dar- 
ling ? ” 

44 ‘I have far too much pity for myself,’ she an-* 
swered, ‘ to be able to feel any for you, Sydney 
Alton. From first to last you have deceived me, 
basely misrepresented yourself, and painted in 
glowing colors a life — you knew, beggar that you 
are — you could never give me. Do not talk to me 
of love or pity.’ 

44 As she said this, for all trace of softness, she 
might have been one of the furies. 

44 1 was appalled ; my father’s words came back 
to me with overwhelming power. 

“ 4 You wrong me, Maud,’ I said, 4 for I never 
even dreamed of my father’s disastrous failure, 
when I made you my wife. Heaven knows that, 
madly as I love you, I would not have dragged 
you down to such poverty as mine.’ 

Q XI 


242 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ 4 Neither shall you,’ she answered me, with 
cold disdain. 

“ 4 What will you do ?’ I asked, both angered and 
amazed. 

“‘No one knows of our marriage,’ she said, 4 ex- 
cept the minister and the two friends who witnessed 
it. I have been to them, and they have promised 
never to betray us. I gave them good reasons for 
asking their silence.’ 

4 4 4 What were those reasons, pray?’ I asked, 
feeling deeply outraged, and, doubtless, showing it 
in both voice and manner. 

44 4 1 told them,’ she answered, in a less frigid 
tone, 4 that because of your changed condition, 
we thought it would be best for me to remain with 
my aunt, at least for the present ; and to do this, it 
would be necessary to conceal our marriage from 
her, as, knowing of it, she would do nothing more 
for me, and being her nearest relative and destined 
heiress, we believed it would be unwise to act dif- 
ferently.’ She paused, as if waiting for my reply. 

44 1 do not remember all that I said to her, for I 
was a madman then. I loved her, and I felt that I 
was nothing to her. She had taken our fates in her 
own hands, and without one word to me had dis- 
posed of both ; and every instinct of my heart, 
warned me of what has truly come to pass. She 
listened to me for some moments, in cold and un- 
moved silence, then said, haughtily : 4 When you 
can act and speak as a gentleman should, I will 
listen to you, but not until then,’ and, turning, she 
walked rapidly away from me. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


243 


‘ 8 So young, so heartless,’ I almost shrieked, and 
for some paces followed her ; but feeling that I was 
in truth not master of myself, I stopped, and blind 
with unutterable pain, staggered rather than walked 
to my desolate home, and for two weary, miserable 
days did not leave my room. Then I wrote to my 
wife, to meet me at the same place as she returned 
from school. 

“We met, and as I had foreseen, I yielded to 
her wishes. We were quite calm ; I with the hope- 
lessness of despair, and she with what — Heaven 
only knows. We decided then and there, that I 
should go away, W est, abroad, or anywhere, so that 
I left New York. I was to win the fickle goddess 
Fortune, and then, and not until then, return and 
claim my wife. That was the substance of what 
we said, and then, almost as strangers might have 
done, we parted. 

“ Soon after, a forlorn and wretched exile, I left 
New York. In the far West, for three long years, 
I battled bravely with adversity, and my evil for- 
tunes. Of my wife, I heard occasionally, sometimes 
from herself, and sometimes indirectly through 
others ; I learned that she had left school, and 
entered the gay world, where her brilliant beauty 
was the theme of every tongue. Half-mad with 
jealousy, I listened to marvelous stories of her 
triumphs, and resolved to return at once, and claim 
her as my wife. One of the friends who had wit- 
nessed our marriage, was also in the West, and the 
other had been long dead. Hence there was no one 
in New York, who dreamed that she was other than 


244 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


she seemed. I knew that she did not love me, and 
felt, that she was incapable of love ; but none the 
less I loved her, and longed for the joy of beholding 
her. My mind once made up, was soon put in 
execution, and little more than three years after I 
parted from her, to my wife’s intense disgust, one 
morning I stood suddenly before her, announced 
by a name assumed for the occasion. 

“I found her all that report had said of her; 
more beautiful than I had dreamed, even she could 
become. In vain I pleaded for my rights, she was 
more obdurate than she had been before ; and as I 
was no better able to support her, she had in truth, 
some justice on her side ; but I believed, and told 
her, that her presence would nerve my arm and 
brain, to wrench from fortune, all that we desired. 

“ She would not listen to me, and called me a 
madman, even to propose such a thing. Indeed I 
felt little better than one, being so utterly unable 
to enforce my claims. 

“ For one long month, I watched her vain, tri- 
umphant career, then deeply humiliated and un- 
manned, in my powerlessness once more left, but 
that time told her, that when I came again, whether 
empty or full handed, it would be to remain and 
assert my rights. 

“ Three years have passed since that promise 
was made, and I am here to keep it. In my first 
absence I wrote to her occasionally, under an as- 
sumed name. In these last years, she has heard no 
word from me ; but I did not dream that she would 
dare to think of marriage, and when I heard of the 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 245 

possibility of such a thing, it was a blow as painful 
as unexpected. 

“ 4 She may think me dead,’ I thought, with some 
remorse for my long silence, and at once I wrote her 
a note of warning, only a few lines, saying : 4 A 
sword suspended by a hair hangs over you, beware 
of any false step.’ I signed no name, and mailed it 
to an acquaintance in New York, asking him to 
remail it there. If she had any conscience left, I 
knew these lines would awaken it at once, and deter 
her from the rash and guilty act she contemplated. 
Having warned her, I wished to prove her to the 
utmost, and resolved to wait with patience for the 
end. 

44 1 have waited and watched ; and am here to- 
day, to save a man, better than myself perhaps, from 
a doom even more infamous than my own.” 

As he spoke these last words he rose to his feet, 
both face and form ennobled by the dignity of a 
fixed and firm resolve. 

He looked down questioningly, at Mr. St. George, 
who had listened to his entire, wonderful story in 
complete silence. At first with incredulity ; but 
the conviction came to him, slowly but surely, that 
he was listening to the plain unvarnished truth, and 
that whatever weakness, or unworthiness, there 
might be in the man, he was now at least, terribly 
in earnest and incapable of falsehood. The revela- 
tion had been so unexpected, and so horrible, to 
every sense of honor, truth or virtue, that he had 
not once thought of his own release, from his tor- 


246 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


mentress ; but, as those dark eager eyes, looked into 
his, and asked as plainly as eyes could ask : 

“ What will you do ? ” his heart throbbed wildly 
for one moment with the exultation of its freedom ; 
but he answered the inquiring look with a calmness 
that was forced. 

“ Be seated, sir,” he said, “ and I will be as frank 
with you, as I believe you have been with me. In 
the beginning I will say, that even though you had 
not come, Miss Tremaine would never have been my 
wife, and I have told her so ; but she persistently 
refuses to release me from my engagement, not I 
believe, with any hope of compelling me to marry 
her, but that she may punish me through the loss of 
one, dearer than life. If your story be true, I am 
forever free from her evil scheming ; but to be quite 
sure that my own desire has not lent credulity to 
my mind, I must see you and Miss Tremaine face to 
face.” 

“ It has been my intention from the first,” Mr. 
Alton answered, “ to go to her as soon as I had told 
you my story; and I desire you to witness our 
meeting. You will need no other proof that I have 
spoken the truth.” 

He was naturally intensely excited, and far more 
anxious for the meeting with Miss Tremaine, than 
Mr. St. George, who could not help feeling reluct- 
ance to witness the shame even of this heartless wo- 
man ; but when he rose impatiently and proposed 
going, without a word the latter accompanied him. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


247 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


WITHIN FATE S IRON GRASP 


1 Though the mills of God grind slowly, 
Yet they grind exceeding small; 

Though with patience He stands waiting, 
With exactness grinds He all.” 


—Longfellow, from Friedrich von Logan. 


ISS TREMAINE had another guest, who 



-TVJL had been with her but a few moments when 
Mr. St. George and Mr. Alton were announced ; and 
having come to plead once more for love and life* 
Mr. Dartmoth was both pained and disappointed 
when they entered. 

She was herself greatly surprised to see Mr. St. 
George, as she had not been troubled by visits from 
him of late. But in no wise disconcerted, she rose 
and extended her hand to him ; then turned grace- 
fully to the stranger, and Mr. St. George pre- 
sented Mr. Alton. 

They stood looking at each other in silence. She 
did not scream or faint, or do any of those things 
that are so common to a woman’s weakness ; but the 
smile died out of her eyes, and off her lips ; and the 
blood slowly receded from her face, leaving it white 
and cold as marble. 

“ So you have come back ; ” she said at last, 

in a low, hard voice. 


248 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“Yes! I have kept my promise,” lie answered 
firmly. 

“ And had better be at the bottom of the sea, 
than to have kept it,” she replied with cold, un- 
measured scorn. 

“For your sake, no doubt,” he answered, calmly 
still, and looking with undaunted eyes, straight into 
her lurid, flashing orbs. 

“ What is your purpose ? Why not at once re- 
veal it? Tell these gentlemen,” she continued, 
“ who you are, and what you have come to do. One 
of them at least is in utter ignorance.” And she 
laughed, mockingly, unmusically. 

Percy Dartmoth had risen to his feet, and as he 
listened the pallor of death overspread his face, and 
great drops of perspiration gathered upon his brow. 
He knew that some agony was fast approaching 
him ; but just how terrible, he did not dream. 

There was a moment of awful silence, before 
Mr. Alton spoke. 

“ This lady,” he said, “ whom both of you have 
known as Miss Tremaine, has been for six long years, 
my lawfully wedded wife, and to-day I have come 
to claim her as such.” 

“Liar! base, miserable liar !” Percy Dartmoth 
cried, wild with passion, and rushfid with frantic 
rage at the bold speaker ; but Mr. St. George grasp- 
ing his arm, held him back and said to him in a firm 
voice : 

“Dartmoth you are mad, or else have forgotten 
where you are.” 

“Unloose me,” he answered fiercely, “that I 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


249 


may kill him, before he repeats this vile and infa- 
mous slander.” 

44 Percy Dartmoth, most generous friend, listen 
to me.” 

It was Maud Tremaine’s voice that called him, 
and it was musical and sweet, as in those unforgot- 
ten hours, when he first loved her. 

Slowly his clenched hands relaxed, and as Mr. St. 
George released him he turned to her and said, 
with the old softness both of tone and manner : 

44 1 am listening.” 

44 This man,” she began scornfully, 44 has told 
you the truth, but not the whole truth. For six 
years I have been his wife, by the hollow mockery 
of a ceremony, men call marriage, but by more than 
that, I have not been, before high Heaven I swear. 
Basely deceived into marrying him, when I learned 
of his deception, I loathed him and resolved never to 
be in truth his wife. I told him, that as he had wooed 
me, with the royal promises of a prince and was in 
truth a beggar, if he would win me to his side, he 
must win fortune too. 

44 He left me and in three years returned as empty- 
handed as he went, and dared ask me to share 
his wretched beggary. I answered him, that only a 
madman could ask a thing like that ; as he knew as 
well as I, that our marriage once acknowledged, my 
aunt would give me up forever. He knew that I 
was her destined heiress ; knew too, that I did not 
love him, and yet he asked this sacrifice of me ; 
pleading that my presence would nerve his arm to 
victory. At last, when every argument had failed to 


250 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


move me from my settled purpose, some ray of rea- 
son must have come to him ; for lie once more left 
me in peace, and this time went beyond the sea. 
His last words to me were: 

“ ‘ Let fortune smile or frown, when next I 
come, it will be to claim you as my wife, and you 
will find escape impossible.’ ” 

She paused, as if to collect her thoughts and 
looked intently at each of her listeners. 

There was a wild hunted look in Percy Dart- 
moth’s eyes, and every feature seemed quivering 
with anguish. 

Mr. St. George had heard the same story, only 
told in a slightly different manner, and he was but 
little moved, from his ordinary calm. 

Mr. Alton’s face would have been as impene- 
trable as a mask, but for the dark eyes, that now and 
then, flashed ominously. 

As no one interrupted her, she continued : 

“ Time passed, I did not hear from him, he did 
not come, and I began to feel that death had freed 
me from his persecution. In my own way I had 
passed my life, imbibing from it all the pleasure that 
I could ; but although often wooed, I never thought 
of marriage, until less than two years ago, when I first 
met Harold St. George ; ” and she bent mockingly, 
before the person she had named. 

“ It was his evil fate,” she said, “ to goad me to 
it then, by angering and defying me, as no man had 
ever done. I vowed to be revenged, and as I did 
not and could never love him, I knew full well that 
I could take no surer vengeance, than to make him 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


251 


love me. His good angel saved him for a time ; but 
he was mine, at last, and to be mistress of Olney 
Heights, ambition prompted me to barter conscience 
and every hope of love. I own the fear came to me 
often, that Sydney Alton lived,” and she looked at 
him as scornfully as if he, and not she, was the cul- 
prit. 

“ If I could have done so, I would have kept our 
engagement secret, until our marriage day; but 
against my will it became public, and not long after, 
an anonymous note came to me, bidding me beware 
of any false step. I knew then, that my fears had 
been but too well founded, and for a time I hesi- 
tated ; but at last, come what would, I resolved to 
defy my fate ; and found comfort in the thought, 
that once his wife, no shame could come to me, un- 
shared by this proud man. 

“ As the weeks flew on, and I knew that he no 
longer loved me, and had never loved me worthily ; 
my desire to drag him down from his lofty heights, 
became greater even than to be mistress of his 
stately home, and for so sure a vengeance, felt that 
the world’s esteem would be well lost. Unmoved 
I saw him writhe in the chains that bound him, and 
vainly strive to break them. 

.“‘You cannot force me, to make you my wife,’ 
he said ; but I knew his heart, knew that he loved 
Clare Vivien, and that his freedom unless freely 
given, could never win him the joy he coveted. 
Beside my foiled ambition, he had wronged and 
basely insulted me ; I had lost all other means of 
punishing him, and think you in my thirst for ven- 


252 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


geance I could let this last chance pass? No ! Percy 
Dartmoth, not even your love, the one sweet 
memory of my life, could woo me from my purpose. 
Almost, I had ceased to fear this wretched man, 
and truly thought that he would not molest me, 
unless I really married ; and even then, believed 
that gold would buy his silence. As you see, I have 
misjudged him. 

“ But even the chance of this disgrace and 
wretchedness, I could not bring on you, and felt 
that my life belonged to vengeance, and not love.” 

As she ceased to speak, for one moment Mr. 
Alton’s face was a study ; icy contempt upon his 
lips, and scornful indignation in his eyes ; but it 
was only for a moment ; then coldly impassive as 
before, he stood watching. 

Percy Dartmoth had fallen back into the nearest 
chair, and w^as sitting with bowed head, and folded 
hands, completely crushed by this unlooked for 
shame and misery. He did not look up, even when 
his name was spoken ; and she came nearer to him 
as she said more gently, more appealingly : 

“ If we had met in time, my life and yours would 
have been different ; but it was too late — . Already 
the ‘ trail of the serpent,’ had crossed my life, and 
I could not darken yours with its evil shadow.” 

She looked at him pleadingly as she finished. 
In this hour of supremest shame, the loss of this 
man’s love, that had ever been so true and tender, 
seemed greater to her than the vengeance, to which 
she would have so remorselessly sacrificed it ; and she 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


253 


almost believed what she had said, “ that it might 
have been different, had they met in time.” 

Bat the desperate, despairing man, to whom she 
now looked appealingly, had no longer even the 
ghost of such an illusion. At last he saw her as she 
was, with all the hideous deformity of mind and 
heart, that had marred her own life and others that 
were nobler far. He had loved her so madly, wor- 
shiped her so blindly ; and now he knew that she 
was incapable of loving, and utterly unworthy of 
the all absorbing passion, that had sacrificed at her 
altar, whatever had come between him and his 
love. He had nothing more to either hope or fear ; 
for having made her his idol, he had bowed all his 
manhood before her, and found too late, that she was 
worthless clay. 

He had forgiven much in the past, believing that 
her frailties were only such as time and love could 
remove, and oh ! Heaven, he remembered with bit- 
ter agony, how easy it h&d been to forgive all things, 
when in the glamor of that enchanting face. 

Now, self convicted, she stood before him, heart- 
less, cold and mercenary, utterly unworthy of the 
name of woman ; and without even that passion, 
which is a woman’s strength and weakness, to ex- 
cuse the crime she had committed and would still 
commit. Errors, born of woman’s softness, he might 
have pitied and forgiven ; but her sins had nothing 
womanly in them. 

She was still standing before him, with that 
mute appeal in her lovely eyes, and both Mr. St. 
George and Mr. Alton, were looking on in silence, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


254 

when Percy Dartmoth groaned deeply, and looked 
np at her with staring eyes, his face drawn and hag- 
gard. He gazed long, as if it were the last time he 
should ever look upon her marvelous loveliness. 

“ And this is the woman I have loved to my own 
utter ruin,” he said, in a mournful voice, and lifting 
his eyes to Heaven, murmured : 

“ Oh, God, forgive me, that I have worshiped 
Thy creature, and forgotten Thee.” 

The white handkerchief which he grasped tightly 
in his hand, and had pressed to his lips again and 
again, Maud Tremaine saw, with horror, was stained 
with his life’s blood. 

Slowly and with apparent difficulty he rose to 
his feet. 

“ Farewell, Maud Tremaine. May God be more 
merciful to you, than you have been to others ; 
but remember always, that which you have done to 
me, I forgive. Farewell, forever.” Then, unmind- 
ful of any other presence, he staggered from the 
room. 

Imploringly she stretched forth her arms to him, 
but no sound came from her bloodless lips ; and 
when her eyes could no longer follow him, she sank 
into the chair that he had left, seeming for the first 
time overcome by the degradation she had brought 
upon herself. Both men had been shocked by the 
tragedy of passion they had witnessed. Mr. 
St. George more deeply than the other, because he 
knew from what noble heights the victim had fallen, 
and how really terrible was the wreck. Deeply agi- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


255 


tatecl, he seated himself, and waited for the other 
man to speak. 

In Sydney Alton’s breast the fires of passion and 
emotion, that had once burned so fiercely, seemed 
to have at last consumed themselves, and left him 
cold and dead to every thought or feeling, but this 
one thirst for justice from the woman who had so 
long wronged and tortured him. 

He stood watching her silently for some mo- 
ments, then approaching her, he said in a cold 
voice. 

“ Calm yourself, madam, for I wish you to decide 
this morning upon the course I shall pursue. I do 
not feel that any consideration is due you, but for 
the sake of those who have never wronged me, I 
will grant you this much grace.” 

She did not answer him, and he continued : 

“ If you prefer that the world should not know 
the crime you meditated, our marriage shall be kept 
secret, and I will claim you publicly in a second 
marriage.” 

At this she lifted her white face defiantly, and 
asked : 

“Why this double mockery? I have baen as 
much your wife as I will ever be.” 

“Have a care how you tempt me to do my 
worst,” he answered ; and one glance into the fixed 
and resolute face, convinced her that rebellion 
would be useless. 

Fate had at last arrested her, and out of its iron 
and relentless grasp, she saw no way of escape. She 
had felt that to accomplish her revenge she could 


256 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


relinquish the good opinion of the world she 
loved; but now, when it was the one desperate 
alternative to this wretched marriage, she shrank 
from it with horror ; and remembering in this hour 
of agony, the mother who had loved her through 
good and ill, she no longer hesitated. On the one 
side lay dishonor and disgrace, on the other only 
new links and firmer rivets to the loathsome chain 
already forged. 

With folded arms and tightly compressed lips, 
Mr. Alton awaited what she would say. 

Mr. St. George’s position was painfully embar- 
rassing, and while he felt that he could have no 
voice in their decision, was naturally deeply inter- 
ested in what it would be. 

Miss Tremaine did not long hesitate, and when 
she lifted her face proudly to the stern man, who 
was so mercilessly ordering her fate, in her mind she 
had decided ; but she asked in a cold, measured 
voice : 

“ Is there no reprieve from dishonor, but mar- 
riage with you ? ” 

“ None,” he answered, more coldly even than 
she had asked. 

“Then, for the sake of one who has loved me 
always, let it be marriage,” she said, in a firm, hard 
voice, and rose to her feet. 

Cold and imperturbable still, he motioned her to 
be seated once more. 

“I wish to know before leaving,” he said, “at 
what hour to-morrow our marriage shall take 
place ? ” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


257 


44 As soon as you like, for time cannot make my 
wretched doom more welcome,” she answered, 
fiercely. 

Apparently unruffled, by either her words or 
manner, he said firmly and icily : 

44 Ten, to-morrow morning, then, is the hour I 
select. In the meantime, you can tell your mother 
whatever you choose, and I feel assured she will 
receive anything better than the real truth.” 

With this parting stab, he turned to Mr. St. 
George and asked : 

44 Have you anything to say to this lady?” 

As Mr. St. George, who was taken by surprise, 
did not answer at once, he added : 

44 It may be your last opportunity.” 

44 1 have nothing to say to Miss Tremaine,” Mr. 
St. George replied ; 44 fate has given the freedom 
she denied me, and for the rest, I trust to Heaven 
and love.” 

She had once more risen, and stood looking 
scornfully from one man to the other. 

44 Yes ! Harold St. George, you have escaped my 
vengeance, but you cannot escape my hatred,” she 
almost hissed. 

44 1 will see that your hatred be less fatal to him, 
than your love has been,” Mr. Alton said, with 
bitter irony, and looked at her so sternly, that she 
cowered beneath his gaze. 

But regaining soon her insolent defiance, she 
laughed discordantly, bowed mockingly to each of 
them, and glided swiftly from the room. 


R 


11 * 


258 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


After she left, there was profound silence for 
some moments. At last Mr. St. George said : 

“ Mr. Alton, I do not believe that you are wise 
in forcing this desperate woman into marriage. 
While I know that she has sinned greatly, and 
deserves punishment, I feel that for your own sake, 
you should be merciful, and give her at least the 
freedom of the law. She does not love you, and what 
happiness can you expect, from a union, which to 
me, in its hideous mockery, seems more terrible than 
death.” 

Mr. Alton had listened with no apparent emotion, 
but, as he paused for an answer, looked at him so 
grimly, and smiled with such sardonic irony, that 
Mr. St. George shuddered. After a moment he 
spoke, and his voice sounded hoarse and unnatural. 

“ After all these years of torture, do you com- 
prehend me so little, as to believe that I could be 
capable of mercy ? Ha ! ha ! you must be mad to 
talk to me of happiness. No happiness can come to 
me, but my revenge ; and I will have it. To-mor- 
row, she goes from here my wife, or the world shall 
know her shame.” 

“ Have you no manhood in you to feel pity for 
a woman, if not for the guilty one, at least for the 
mother, who has done you no wrong and will suffer 
tenfold more than the erring daughter?” Mr. St. 
George asked sternly. 

“ I proposed to my wife a second marriage, that 
her mother might never know her guilt ; greater 
mercy or pity than this, I cannot show,” was the 
firm, but somewhat softened answer. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


259 


“Very well, sir, I shall tell the whole truth to 
Mr. Vivien and his daughter Clare, and advise them, 
to urge Miss Tremaine to confess everything and 
appeal to the law, for protection from you. She has 
wronged both of us ; but I have too much human- 
ity to desire any such retribution, and feel that no 
disgrace can equal the misery into which you would 
drag her,” Mr. St. George said haughtily. 

“ You have forgotten, sir, that my wife had the 
liberty of choice. She has chosen, and I have little 
fear that she will listen to any voice but pride,” 
Mr. Alton answered, with icy scorn, and seeing that 
Mr. St. George was preparing to leave, he added, 

“ If you will go to Mr. Vivien now, and tell him 
all that you have to tell, I would be glad to see him 
afterwards, and will wait here.” 

“I will go at once,” Mr. St. George said quickly, 
having a hope, that Mr. Vivien would be able in 
some way, to soften the obdurate man. 

“We need not part enemies, and I shall perhaps 
never see you again,” Mr. Alton said, holding out 
his hand for the first time, to Mr. St. George, who 
took it without a word. 

Something like a smile glittered in his eyes and 
curled his lips ; but it was so cynical and cold, that 
Mr. St. George shuddered, as he looked, and felt in- 
tense relief, as he left the room and that saturnine 
glance. He was still deeply agitated as he crossed 
the hall and entered Mr. Vivien’s study. 

With half-closed eyes, Clare languidly reclined 
upon a sofa, and her father who was reading to her, 
sat near by. He paused and looked up with sur- 


260 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


prise ; for he had not even known that Mr. St. 
George was in the house ; but as his guest advanced, 
he rose, and gave him a smiling welcome. 

“ I have been trying to amuse my invalid,” he 
said, laying one hand tenderly upon Clare’s pallid 
brow. 

“You are ill!” Mr. St. George said, with quick 
anxiety, as she rose and held out her hand to him. 

“No! I think not, but I have never been quite 
myself, since that dreadful day,” she answered 
sadly. 

He looked at her, with such appealing tenderness 
in his eyes, that her own fell beneath them, and 
she did not again look up, until he startled her, by 
asking if either of them had seen Miss Tremaine in 
the last hour. 

Since breakfast neither of them had seen her, 
and they asked in one breath, his reason for the 
inquiry. 

“ I wished to know, if she had forestalled me in 
what I have to tell you,” he answered at last. They 
told him that they had heard nothing, and he con- 
tinued, “ It has been not more than half an hour, 
since she left me, but in that time had she desired 
to do so, she would have told you. As ^he has not, 
it may be her wish that you should never know, 
that which I feel it is my duty to reveal to you.” 

Commencing at once with Mr. Alton’s early visit 
to himself, as nearly as he could remember, he gave 
them every detail of the exciting scenes, through 
which he had so recently passed ; told them the 
hour appointed for the second marriage and that he 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


261 


believed it to be Mr. Vivien’s duty, to use every 
means in his power, to prevent this blasphemy of a 
most holy sacrament. 

“ Mr. Alton is still in the parlor,” he continued, 
“ go to him, Chester, and if you can , prevail upon 
him, to spare this wretched woman, both for her 
own sake and her mother’s ? ” 

Mr. Vivien felt Maud Tremaine’s disgrace almost 
as deeply, as if she had been his own child, and 
pitied her through all her guilt, for the unhappy 
fate that had overtaken her at last. He had not 
once interrupted Mr. St. George, and now that he 
had finished, still sat stunned and motionless. Re- 
membering at last, that it was his duty to protect 
this erring woman if he could, from the man who 
was her lawful protector, without a word to Mr. 
St. George, he rose and went to the parlor. 

Clare listened to Mr. St. George with mute in- 
credulous horror, feeling that there must be some 
mistake, until at last, as he himself had been con- 
vinced, so conviction forced its way to her heart, 
and feeling even deeper shame than her father, in 
the shame of this unloved sister, she had bowed her 
face upon her hands, and with bated breath, and 
quivering nerves, had heard him to the end, winc- 
ing at every fresh proof of her sister’s infamy, but 
asking no questions, nor thinking once, of her 
lover’s freedom, so entirely was her mind and heart 
absorbed in the mournful and wretched story, to 
which she was listening. When it was all told, re- 
membering only, that the sinning one was a woman 
and her sister, she suffered almost as keenly, as the 


262 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


woman who was the victim of her own misguided 
nature. 

Rising impulsively, and saying, “ I must go to 
her, it is my duty,” she started to the door ; but 
Mr. St. George laid a detaining hand upon her, 
and said gently, but firmly : 

“To do so, Glare, would be to reveal your knowl- 
edge of the unhappy truth, and above all things I 
do not wish you to do this. It would only add to 
her already deep shame and mortification, and in no 
way comfort, or lift the yoke, that six years ago, she 
voluntarily took upon herself. She will tell her 
mother all that she desires you to know. I pity her, 
Heaven knows ; for from the desperate man she 
has so long deluded and deceived, I fear there is lit- 
tle hope of mercy, and that her only refuge from his 
persecution, will be disgrace ; but even that, is far 
better than the bondage into which he would force 
her.” 

“ She is his wife, and must remain so until death 
frees one or the other ; but with the feelings that 
both entertain, the whole world, should be between 
them,” Clare said, with a shudder, as she reseated 
herself. 

Mr. St. George sat down too, and waited for Mr. 
Vivien’s return. Almost an hour passed, before he 
came in, looking pale and dejected. 

“ I have done no good, Harold,” he said, “ this 
man is a madman on that one subject, and neither 
argument nor entreaty could move him in the least. 
Otherwise he seemed a gentleman, for although in- 
exorable in his stern purpose, he expressed deep sor- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


263 


row for both her mother and myself, and implored 
me to spare my wife all knowledge of the truth. 
There is nothing left for me to do, but to induce 
Maud to confess the truth to her mother, and let him 
do his worst. Do not go, Harold, I need your coun- 
sel,” he said, as he once more left the room, this 
time, to go to Maud Tremaine. Already she had 
told her story to her mother, an ingenuous fabrica- 
tion from first to last. That her engagement to Mr. 
Alton was an old one, which honor compelled her to 
fulfill ; that Mr. St. George had yielded all claims 
in his favor, and that the gentleman was by no 
means rich, although he had been, at the time their 
engagement was made. That she thought they 
would go abroad immediately, to be gone for some 
years, and that she hoped this interruption and sud- 
den turning aside in her life’s plan, would give no 
pain to her mother. This was the substance of what 
she had said. 

Pride and the little reverence and affection that 
was in he‘r heart, had given her strength and calm- 
ness to go bravely through her story. To this 
wretched woman, the loss of the world’s esteem, 
seemed greater than the loss of happiness, and to 
keep it, she had bent her proud neck to the yoke. 
But beyond all this, in her dark hour of trial, seemed 
the love and tenderness that her mother had given 
her from her birth, and Percy Dartmoth, from the 
hour he first knew her; and little as he dreamed 
it, at this moment there was still enough of woman’s 
softness left in her, to have bartered willingly all that 
she would purchase at such frightful cost, if by 


264 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


doing so, she could have won once more his knightly- 
faith. But this she knew could never be ; he was 
lost to her forever. 

She too had aimed loftily and fallen low. With 
her beauty and her genius to command, she had felt 
that no exaltation was too great for her attainment. 
Yain aspirations ; for disappointment had crowned, 
each mighty effort; and now to save from the 
knowledge of her shame, the only heart that trusted 
her, she must resort to falsehood and equivocation. 

Mrs. Vivien heard her at first, with perfect in- 
credulity; it was so hard to believe that her 
daughter could be guilty of such madness. 

“ Do you intend me to believe, Maud, that you 
will let the brilliant destiny, that is within your 
reach, pass from you, that you may become the wife 
of this poor man ? she asked, and when her daugh- 
ter convinced her, of the real and awful earnestness 
of her purpose ; she raved, implored and wept, but 
all to no avail, Maud Tremaine seemed turning into 
marble, as she listened. 

“ Heaven knows mamma, I would not give you 
this unhappiness, but I can not undo the past,” she 
said sadly, (and as her mother was still weeping 
wildly), bent over her, and added in her gentlest 
tone : 

“Go to father, mamma, he has been always very 
kind to me ; tell him what I have told you and he 
will comfort you. I wish both of you to believe, for 
it is true, that if it were possible, there is no sacri- 
fice I would not make to save you from this sorrow 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


265 


and disappointment.” And before her mother could 
answer her, she was gone. 

She had been in her room but a little while, when 
Mr. Vivien knocked and was admitted. Very 
gently he revealed to her his knowledge of all that 
had transpired, and offered to her his counsel and 
protection, but for some moments she was too much 
enraged, even to reply. 

“ The traitorous wretch,” she said at last, “ could 
he not have spared me your good opinion? Was 
my misery not great enough to satisfy his thirst for 
justice ?” 

“You wrong him, Maud; it was for your sake 
he told me ; that I might dissuade Mr. Alton from 
his cruel purpose, or failing in that , induce you to 
confess to your mother, and demand from him a legal 
separation.” 

“His interference was unnecessary; he knew 
that I had made my choice, and should have known, 
that nothing could move me from it,” she answered, 
wrathfully. 

In vain Mr. Vivien pleaded with her to bury 
pride, and trust to her mother’s love. She would 
not be persuaded ; but when he was about to leave 
her, she said with some feeling: 

“ I bitterly regret, father, that you have heard 
this wretched story ; but, since you know it, I can 
only beg of you to think of me with all the charity 
that is in your kind heart, and, above all things, 
keep my secret from my mother. See Percy Dart- 
moth, and for her sake implore his silence. For her 
sake, also, if you have any influence with the traitor 
12 


266 


AN It>EAL FANATIC. 


who has betrayed me to you, bind him to secresy. 
For myself, I ask nothing from either.’ , 

She was deeply agitated, and seeing this, he made 
one more fruitless effort to change her purpose, then 
went down to the library, feeling powerless and 
dejected. 

Mr. St. George was alone, Clare haying excused 
herself soon after her father left the room. He had 
not forgotten that the eventful morning hours, 
which had brought freedom and the hope of happi- 
ness to him, had brought misery to another man, 
and most bitter shame to a woman ; and while he 
knew himself to be happier than he had been for 
months, felt genuine pity for their suffering, and 
was deeply pained when Mr. Vivien told him of his 
sad failure, and that at the appointed hour the 
unholy marriage would take place. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC, 


267 


CHAPTER XXV, 


ALL FOR A WOMAN’S FACE, 


“Look on me! there is an order 
Of mortals on the earth, who do become 



Old in their youth, and die ere middle age, 
Without the violence of warlike death ; 

Some perishing of pleasure— some of study— 
Some of disease — some of insanity — 

And some of withered, or of broken hearts, 
For this last is a malady which slays 
More than are numbered in the lists of Fate, 
Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.” 


HE day on which the chains that bound two 



JL wretched lives were to be forged anew, dawned 
serene and lovely, and in the joyous sunlight there 
seemed no element of sympathy with the tragedies 
of life ; and yet in the very midst of its glad radi- 
ance, a dark one had been enacted, and another 
soon would be. 

The people of Olney were wild with sorrow and 
excitement, for the untimely taking off, of one of 
their number. For many hours, no mortal eye had 
seen him ; shut up in his own room, locked away 
from all observers, alone with his God, who can tell 
what thoughts or feelings prompted him to solve, so 
suddenly and forcibly, the mystery of time and of 
eternity. 

They only knew, that startled by a pistol’s loud 
report, the locked door had been opened forcibly, 



268 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


and Percy Dartmoth found lying prostrate, in one 
temple a ghastly wound, and in his right hand the 
fatal weapon still tightly grasped. The hues of life 
had not yet fled, but one glance at the glazed and 
sightless eyes, and none doubted that “ Death had 
been.” 

Tenderly they lifted and laid him upon his bed, 
and a surgeon was sent for, but, as they already 
knew, nothing could be done. The immortal spirit 
had fled from the bondage of flesh, and the evils it is 
heir to. 

“ This is the culmination of a madness I have 
seen for months,” said one, who gazed sadly at the 
stiffening form. 

“ Ay, you are right,” said another, “he has not 
been himself for many months and still another 
said : 

“ He was so gifted, so noble, to be thus cut down 
in the very midst of his usefulness and a brilliant 
destiny. All, too, for the beauty of a woman’s face, 
a woman as false as she is fair. If she has any soul, 
I pity her for the ruin she has wrought.” 

This last speaker had not yet observed that 
Harold St. George was among them ; for, having 
deep respect for him , in his presence he would have 
spared his promised wife. 

Mr. St. George, chancing to be in the village, 
was one of those who forced open the door, and 
found the unfortunate man. 

He was sitting by the bedside, his face turned 
from the crowd. He heard all that was said, but 
better than any of them he comprehended the fierce 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


269 


torture, which had maddened and overthrown the 
noble mind. It had been but a few hours since he 
had seen him in life, bowed down by such anguish 
as only a royal heart could feel ; and now, alas ! he 
was beyond the reach of human sympathy. 

With one last mournful look into the dead man’s 
face, he rose and passed from the room. 

At the door he met Sydney Alton, who had only 
then heard of the dread event ; and although it was 
past nine o’clock, he made his way through the 
crowd, and stood reverently in the presence of the 
dead. ' 

All marveled who the stranger was, but from the 
beauty of that pallid face, his eyes did not once 
turn. 

“ I might have been like this long, long ago,” he 
thought, “ if knowing well her utter heartlessness 
could have driven me to it.” 

“ Alas ! it may be, I were better so,” he muttered, 
and those who watched him, were startled by the 
pained and desperate look that came into the dark 
and haggard face. Without a glance or word for 
those around him, he turned and left them. 

Reaching his room, he looked at his watch, and 
saw that to be at Claremont at the appointed hour, he 
had not a moment to tarry. Before the entrance to 
the hotel, a carriage stood waiting for him ; it was 
also to convey his bride and himself to the train, 
when they started on their long journey. 

When he arrived at Claremont, Miss Tremaine 
was ready for the ceremony. She had on a simple 
travelling dress ; and plain as it was, it did not de- 


270 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


tract from her wondrous beauty : but now, there 
was nothing sweet or tender in it ; unnatural excite- 
ment dyed her cheeks, and fired her eyes ; she never 
smiled, but laughed loud and often. 

All the morning her mother had done nothing but 
weep and watch her ; but as much as she would 
permit, Clare and Margaret had assisted her in 
packing. The latter was deeply mystified, by this 
sudden and singular marriage, and Miss Tremaine’s 
manner, only added to her mystification. 

Clare had gone to her room, completely overcome 
by the horrors of this life drama, in which she too, 
was acting a part, when Margaret entered, and 
said that Mr. Alton was waiting below, then added, 

“ Joseph has brought bad news from the village 

Giving her no time to complete what she would 
say, Miss Tremaine asked excitedly, 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Mr. Dartmoth has shot himself.” 

“ Is he dead? ” she asked with wide open staring 
eyes. 

' “Yes! he was quite dead, when they found him.” 

With one wild shriek, Maud Tremaine fell sense- 
less to the floor. The unearthly sound reached 
every inmate of Claremont, and summoned them to 
her presence. They used every effort to restore 
her, but so like death seemed her unconsciousness, 
and so long their efforts were unrewarded by any- 
thing like returning life, that Mrs. Vivien called 
wildly for a physician and one was sent for ; but 
long before he reached Claremont, Maud Tremaine 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


271 


had been lifted to her feet and had spoken words 
that seemed branded on each listener’s brain. 

“ This is the first time in my life, that I have 
been unconscious, and it will be the last,” she said, 
with bitter emphasis, “ for the awful cry my heart 
sent up, was the death agony of all that was left of 
womanhood in me.” Then with no trace of weak- 
ness, she turned to her waiting bridegroom and said 
.coldly: 

“ I am ready.” 

In awed and solemn silence, father, mother, sis- 
ter, servants, followed them to the parlor below, 
where the man of God stood ready to unite them in 
wedlock’s holy bonds. 

Dr. Upton, the family physician being absent 
from home, his son and partner Dr. Alfred Upton, had 
come instead, and now watched with amazement the 
strange funereal-like procession. He saw the pale 
groom and paler bride, stop before the minister, and 
was an uninvited witness of this most unhallowed 
marriage, which was the second tragedy of the 
eventful day. He had known Clare and her parents 
from boyhood, but Maud Tremaine he had only met 
a few times since his return from Europe, where he 
had been studying for the past three years. He 
had heard her name darkly mentioned in connection 
with young Dartmoth’s tragic death, and without 
knowing anything of their real history, as he looked 
at the two restless, cold, defiant faces, and recalled 
the peaceful almost smiling calm, of that white 
sleeper in the darkened chamber he had left so re- 
cently, felt that Percy Dartmoth even in death, was 


272 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


to be envied, rather than this man, who was in the 
midst of life and manhood’s early vigor. 

Short and simple was the marriage service, and 
for the second time, law and religion pronounced 
Sydney Alton and Maud Tremaine, man and wife. 

Calmly the pale bride turned to her mother, who 
had been weeping silently through the entire cere- 
mony. 

“ Oh ! my child, my darling, what have you 
done ? ” the mother moaned as she took her idol in 
her arms. 

“ My duty only, try to believe this, mamma, and 
to be happy without me ; for I am unworthy of your 
love,” Maud Alton said, and disengaging herself 
from the fond arms that clasped her convulsively, 
she said farewell to all who were present, and 
taking her husband’s arm, crossed for the last time, 
the threshold that had welcomed her from child- 
hood. 

Wildly and vainly, Mrs. Vivien called to her 
darling to come back. She neither stopped, nor 
turned to look; and soon in a deep and death-like 
swoon, the unhappy mother lost all memory of 
pain. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


273 


CHAPTER XXVL 


LOVES THAT HAVE GONE ASTRAY. 


La mort est-elle un mal ? 
La vie est-elle un bien ?” 


LONG sad week had passed away, and to the 



wretched despairing mother no word had 
come, from her absent child. 

To Clare, the house seemed desolate, and the 
very air oppressive, as if the brooding wings of an 
angry fate, were hovering over it. 

From feelings of delicacy, Mr. St. George had 
staid away, and she had seen and heard only deep 
sighs and mournful faces. In these dark days, she 
had thought little qjf herself, or of the future, from 
having thought so much of the tragic lives that had 
been blended with her own. 

Of her sister’s fate, she could not think, without 
deep sorrow ; for all steeped in guilt and error as 
she was, there was a feeling in Clare’s tender heart, 
that only a fiend could wish for the erring one, such 
bitter expiation ; and yet, when standing by Percy 
Dartmoth’s grave, she felt with keenest anguish, 
that his young life had been sacrificed to that 
sister’s vanity alone ; and felt too, that unless dead 
to every noble or generous impulse, it were better 
for the unhappy woman to be sleeping in death 


S 


274 AN IDEAL FANATIC. 

beside her victim, than to live on, remorselessly 
pursued by the avenging memory of her crime. 

One dreary morning, of the choicest flowers that 
the autumn’s frosts and winds had left, she twined 
a garland for the dead ; and still thinking of that 
dark inscrutable providence which had visited them 
so lately, murmured sadly, “Man could have no 
more fitting time to die than this, in the midst of 
nature’s slow decay.” 

All nature seemed in sympathy with her melan- 
choly, from the leaden sky above, to the leaves that 
were falling noiselessly around her. 

When the simple token of friendship was com- 
pleted, she started with it to that new made grave, 
in the village churchyard. It was not far away, 
and she soon reached it. Thinking to be as usual, 
its only visitor, when approaching Percy Dartmoth’s 
grave, she was surprised to see a dark-robed figure 
bowed over it, in grief’s most passionate abandon- 
ment; but still greater was her surprise, when 
becoming aware of another’s presence, the mourner 
lifted a white despairing face, and she saw that it 
was Lilian Trafton. 

She had known this lady well for years, without 
having once suspected the tender depths of her 
reserved and shrinking nature ; and even the one 
who should have known her best, the man for whom 
she was weeping so wildly, did not dream of the 
slumbering fires, or capacity for suffering, that lay 
hidden beneath that usually emotionless calm. 

They had judged her, as the world, with all its 
boasted wisdom, too often judges, from external evi- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


275 


dence only ; and many times rarely endowed natures, 
for want of recognition, are shut off from the 
warmth of sympathy, and left to wither and harden, 
in the coldness, and dreariness of isolation. 

In the eyes that were lifted to Clare, there was a 
mournful far-off look, which touched her deeply; 
but she did not speak, feeling, that in the presence 
of this sacred sorrow, so immeasurably greater than 
her own, all words would be sacrilege. Reverently 
she placed her flowers upon the grave, and silently 
as she had come, moved away, leaving the bereaved 
and sorrowing woman, alone with her dead. 

When half way home, she saw Glen Trafton, 
riding towards her. 

“ I am very glad to see you, Clare,” he said, dis- 
mounting, “ I have been to the house, and was going 
away, greatly disappointed at finding you out; but 
I am fortunate in meeting you, and if you will per- 
mit, I will return with you.” 

“ Certainly, Mr. Trafton, I shall be glad to have 
you do so,” she answered pleasantly. 

“ It is a long time since I have seen you, Clare, 
but believe me, my sympathy and all my thoughts 
have been with you,” he said, looking at her very 
tenderly. 

“ Thank you,” she answered simply, without see- 
ing the glance ; but the unusual softness of his 
tone, warned her of approaching danger. 

She had long known that he loved her, and liked 
him too well, and honored him too sincerely, to 
wish to give him pain ; and she knew that she had 
nothing else to give. He observed her constraint, 


276 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


and although by no means comprehending it, said 
little more, until they reached the house ; but as 
soon as they were seated, with no little concern, he 
said : 

“ You are looking pale, Clare ; I fear you have 
not recovered from* the shock of that unfortunate 
accident.” 

44 It may be possible, but I think, I have had 
much beside, to retard my recovery,” she replied. 

44 That is true, and I have felt for you deeply, 
knowing well how your tender, sensitive heart 
would suffer ; but, my dear Clare, you must not 
permit a misfortune, for which you were in no way 
responsible, to darken the sunshine of your pure 
young life.” 

44 Alas ! it is easy to say I will and I will not, but 
when one really feels, such self-command is impos- 
sible,” she answered, sadly. 

He knew that her sister in all minds was held 
accountable for Percy Dartmotli’s terrible death, 
and he comprehended, even while he regretted, her 
deep dejection. With inborn delicacy he did not 
mention that sister’s name, nor ask of her sudden 
and most unusual marriage, but, after a moment, 
said : 

44 1 know that what you say is true, but none the 
less I believe it to be our duty, to battle bravely 
with whatever threatens our earthly or eternal hap- 
piness. We owe this to ourselves.” 

44 Yet, however bravely we may battle, however 
deep our longings, and well-laid our plans, we often 
miss this thing which all men covet,” she replied ; 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


277 


u and I am tempted to believe that happiness lies in 
hopes, that, alas ! have no fruition, and echo in my 
mind the poet’s thought — 

“ ‘ Man never is, but always to be blest. 

“ Clare, Clare, this atmosphere of sorrow has 
diseased your mind ; you are too young to think 
and feel like this,” Mr. Trafton said, moving nearer 
to her, all the tenderness that was in his heart 
glowing through his eyes. She saw it, and vainly 
attempted to stem the tide of this passion, long 
repressed. 

Subject after subject she introduced for his dis- 
cussion, but they had no interest for him, and were 
dropped, sometimes without a comment. He had 
but one thought in his mind, but one hope in his 
heart. Knowing this, she was almost desperate 
enough to cry out in her anguish : 

“ Oh! spare yourself and me, leave all that you 
would say unsaid.” But she could not do this, and, 
feeling how powerless she was to avert the coming 
sorrow, at last she, too, was silent. 

It has been said, that if he has common instinct, 
a man need never offer himself in vain to any 
woman ; but this is a mistake, as all must know, 
who have studied the human heart. For while 
some, whose love demands an answering passion to 
perfect and complete itself, failing to meet with this 
response, withdraws and folds away in silence, the 
germ that would have blossomed into fairest fruit ; 
others, less sensitive, more hopeful, or demanding 
less, plunge boldly forward, nor pause to even think 


278 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


of failure, until the “Rubicon” is passed, and they 
know too late, how widely astray their hopes have 
led them. But, sometimes, even the wisest of the 
former, are deluded and beguiled by the sorceries of 
women incapable of love, and there is, alas! for 
them, no resurrection of their buried hopes. 

Indeed, at all times, much depends on woman’s 
nature ; for while some are ardent, impulsive, and 
meet half-way the advances of one beloved, others, 
with native shrinking and reserve, hide all they feel 
the most, and must be surprised into confession. In 
short, there is no plummet that can gauge, this most 
varied, wondrous work of God — the man He has 
fashioned in His own image. 

Glen Trafton’s silence was freighted with feel- 
ings that had grown with him for years, and now, 
in their full strength, he hesitated to open his heart 
and send them forth ; but she was so pale and still, 
so utterly unlike herself, that pity armed him with 
the courage love could not. 

“ What is it that grieves you, Clare, dear one ? ” 
he asked. “ Do you not know that to see you suffer 
tortures me? Oh, my darling, let me shield you 
from every sorrow that may come. I love you, 
Clare, have loved £ou for these many years. Look 
up, my love, and let me read in those sweet eyes, 
that it is not all in vain.” 

Enduring such agony as he could never compre- 
hend, she heard him, but neither answered nor 
looked up, and he asked again : 

“Will you not speak to me, dear? Oh, tell me 
that you love me, or will learn to love me.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


279 


“ I cannot,” fell slowly from her trembling lips. 

“ Do not say that, darling. I cannot bear it. 
I see that I have asked too much. I have given 
you no time to think ; but you must, you will try 
to love me,” he said, so pleadingly, that it intense 
tied her pain. 

“I do not love you as you wish, and can not learn 
to, ” she answered him at last, in a sweet, but 
mournful voice. 

“ My darling ! you do not know your heart, and 
would banish me from my heaven of hope, without 
one thought of its capacities. Think, dearest, what 
my Hfe must be, debarred from every hope that has 
warmed it to maturity ; and let me teach you to 
love me ; for if love ever won response, mine 
surely will.” 

He grasped her hands, and with an eloquence 
that seemed inspired, plead for her love, and im- 
plored her to unsay her cruel words, and leave him 
at least a ray of hope. Beyond her strength she was 
already tortured, and she had the feeling that unless 
this painful scene soon ended, at least her own pain 
could last but little longer. Once more, she heard 
him say : 

“You have never loved, mv darling, nor felt the 
rapture, or despair of passion, and can not pity 
mine.” 

“ You are mistaken, for I too have loved, and 
loved in vain; and taught by the immeasurable 
depths of my own suffering, I pity yours as much as 
one human soul can pity another.” 

A mournful wail, these low, sad words came 


280 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


from her tortured heart ; for as she spoke, she re- 
membered only the despair that had well nigh 
wrecked her life ; but now bewildering memories 
rushed upon her, and the unhappy scenes through 
which she had so lately passed, came back to her 
one by one. Delirious thoughts surged through her 
brain, their sweetness thrilled her heart, and for one 
moment she forgot, that another and no less loving 
heart, awaited its doom from her reluctant, trem- 
bling lips. 

He had been stunned by the unexpected avowal 
of her love ; and awed by the grave and solemn 
earnestness of her manner, watched her in silence, 
until she spoke again. 

“ You have not dreamed of this, no doubt, and I 
would never have confessed it, only to prove to you 
my friend, that I have nothing left to give,” she 
said, and once more life’s crimson dyed her 
face. 

There was such tender pity and compassion in 
her voice, that even though she slew his hopes, he 
felt that she was suffering for every pang she gave, 
and loving her with all the fervor of his manly 
heart, to spare her pain, he tried in vain, to hide 
his anguish. 

“ God ! give me patience to endure,” he said, and 
groaned aloud. For some moments he sat quietly, 
with closed lips and tightly clenched hands, as if 
suppressing by mere force of will, an avalanche of 
passion. At last he rose to his feet and said, with 
all the self-command, that he was master of: 

“I am going to leave you, Clare; I must no 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


281 


longer pain and torture you, by the evidence of my 
weakness.” 

She was sobbing violently and did not heed him, 
and he continued: 

“ Some baleful star must have arisen, above the 
destinies of the Traftons, that is leading their loves 
astray, only to blight, and darken hopelessly, the 
lives it has foredoomed.” 

These fateful, bitter words, were scarcely said, 
when, if he could have done so, he would have re- 
called them ; for they had stabbed anew, his lis- 
tener’s hearf. He reacT it in her dark, reproving 
eyes, as she rose, tremblingly, and extended her 
hand. 

“Forgive me, Clare, for all the pain I must have 
given you; and may God bless and lead you to 
happiness and peace,” he said, with tender earnest- 
ness, and bowing above the hand he held, imprinted 
upon it, one long, despairing kiss; lifted a pained, 
desperate face to hers ; a moment looked, then said 
farewell, and left her standing in mute and sorrow- 
ful regret. She did not love him as he had hoped, 
and knew that she could have given him no other 
answer ; but from knowing this, she suffered no less 
keenly in his pain ; for he was, and had been always 
dear to her. 

From early childhood her memory was richly 
stored, with all his many kindnesses ; and she felt 
that no brother could have been more true and 
tender, than he had been to her. 

She had seen with pain his growing passion, had 
12 * 


282 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 




long feared this blow to his royal heart ; and be- 
lieving with a woman wiser than herself,* that, 

“He comes too near, who comes to be denied,” 
had tried in vain to let him see her heart. He 
would neither see nor be denied, until he boldly 
asked. 

“ Alas! that it should be so,” she thought, with 
deep regret, and recalling the near past, whose bit- 
terness was with her still,* she asked herself, if 
friendship be a thing impossible, between man and 
woman, since one or the other, must fall a victim, to 
its most insidious foe. 

Through gathering tears her eyes followed Glen 
Trafton’s retreating form ; down the lawn through 
the gate, and out into the highway ; then lifting 
her eyes to Heaven she implored the Divine One to 
pity, and guide to light and life and joy, this man, 
who had deserved so much, and found so little. 

♦Lady Mary Wortley Montague. 


< ^ 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


283 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

UNTIL DEATH US DO PART. 

\ 

“ Yes loye indeed is light from Heaven. 

A spark of that immortal fire, 

With angels shared, by Allah given. 

To lift from earth our low desires.” 

— Byron. 

“ Nature posted her parable thus in the skies, 

And the man’s heart bore witness. Life’s vapors arise 
And fall, pass and change, group themselves and revolve 
Round the great central life, which is Love.” 

— Owen Meredith. 

rpHE day following Glen Trafton’s most unhappy 
-L visit, Mr. Vivien left suddenly for New York, 
telling his family in explanation, that important 
business, called him there immediately. They 
knew that he had received both a letter and tele- 
gram in the morning ; but as he appeared unusually 
reticent, forbore to ask him questions ; knowing 
that in his own good time, he would tell them 
everything. 

Although he had been gone three days, they had 
not heard from him as yet, nor had they received 
from Mrs. Alton, even a single line. 

The mother’s heart was crushed already, and 
this cold neglect could add but little pain. Her 
love had been always self-denying and self-sacrific- 
ing; giving much, and asking little. 

Clare partly comprehended her sister’s reluctance 


284 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


to write, and her silence neither surprised nor dis- 
turbed her. She thought much of her father’s 
mysterious absence, and wondered too, if he had* 
confided its cause to Mr. St. George, knowing that 
he had kept so little from him. * 

Restlessly she wandered from room to room ; one 
moment humming a gay ditty, that had not passed 
her lips for months, and the next stopping suddenly, 
with much the feeling one will have, when sur- 
prised into a smile, amid funereal solemnities, and 
did penance, for the moment’s happiness, with an 
hour of sad remembrance. All her own life plans 
seemed growing shapeless ; and the career she had 
marked out seemed purposeless, and no longer allur- 
ed her ; but as yet, she did not wholly realize, or 
acknowledge to herself, the true reason for this. In 
fact, of her future she tried to think but little, for 
its possible sweetness awed and filled her with the 
fear, that such Heaven-born bliss could not be 
meant for mortal, and with maidenly timidity and 
shrinking, day after day, she would put away from 
her the certainty of happiness, from the mere dread 
of losing its shadow. 

“ In the midst of all this wretchedness, must I 
be so supremely blest ? ” she asked herself again 
and again, and always her fond heart answered, 
“ Ay ! even so, for beyond all those who sin and 
suffer, you love one, who loves and lives to bless 
you.” 

Mr. St. George she had not seen since her sister’s 
marriage, and had indeed been grateful to him for 
his considerate absence ; and even now, while she 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


285 


longed to see him, trembled at the thought of it ; 
and dared not trust herself to the delirium of her 
hopes. 

At Olney Heights, Harold St. George was chafing, 
beneath the restraint that delicacy and common for- 
bearance had put upon him. With the instinct of 
love, he had divined Clare’s heart, and felt that he 
could offer her no greater kindness than to stay 
away ; but the suspense was maddening. He longed 
once more to hold her in his arms, and hear from 
her dear lips the sweet assurance of a love, that in 
his agony, he once had dared to doubt. He felt 
himself to be unworthy of this long dreamed of 
happiness ; but no less eagerly, stretched forth his 
hands to grasp it, and in the midnight hours poured 
forth his soul, in grateful thanks, to the God whose 
mercy had withdrawn the avenging sword. 

He had not heard of Mr. Vivien’s absence, and 
knew nothing of its cause, when resolving, to end 
his torturing uncertainty, he approached Claremont. 

At the door he asked for Mr. Vivien and Clare. 

“ Mr. Vivien is away, but Miss Clare will see 
you I know,” Margaret answered. 

“ How long has Mr. Vivien been away, and 
where is he ? ” he asked, with surprise. 

“ Only three days. He is in New York I be- 
lieve, sir,” was the answer, and she went to announce 
him to Clare. 

Mr. St. George was amazed, and unusually dis- 
turbed, at his friend’s having gone without notify- 
ing him, and thought : 

“ What new evil can this mean,” but he was at 


286 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


once ashamed of his weakness in grasping at even 
the phantom of unhappiness, and again abandoned 
himself to the hope of joy. 

He had waited but a few moments when Clare 
advanced timidly to meet him. He took one tremb- 
ling hand, looked fondly into the blushing face, and 
asked softly: 

“Am I welcome, dear?” 

Even before she spoke, he read her answer in 
the eloquent eyes, that for one moment were lifted 
to his. 

“ You know that you have always been welcome 
at Claremont.” 

“ And to Clare,” he added, questioningly. 

“Not always, I fear.” 

“ You are candid. Why not always ? ” he asked 
quickly* and she saw a shadow cross his face. 

“ Don’t question me too closely, or I may say un- 
flattering things,” she . answered, with the old 
piquancy that he had missed so long. 

She had regained her self-possession, and no 
longer felt the timid dread of this meeting, that she 
had felt for days, and more than ever, as she entered 
the room. Moving to a sofa near the window, she 
sat down, and asked him to be seated too, but in- 
stead he crossed the room once or twice nervously, 
and at last stopped before her, and looked down 
curiously, and in silence. She endured the scrutiny 
for a moment only, and looked up, saying laugh- 
ingly : 

“You appear to be making a study of me, Mr. St. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


287 


George. Pray what peculiar phenomenon of the 
‘genus humanus,’ am I presenting to you?” 

“I was thinking,” he answered, laughing softly, 
“how much you reminded me, this morning, of the 
little heroine of the pear tree.” 

Her lips curled slightly. 

“ I am not flattered, I assure you, for I have 
hoped to outlive all trace of that unhappy child.” 

“Surely you do not mean this, Clare ; for worlds, 
I would not have you outlive the purity and un- 
selfish tenderness, that made me love her.” 

“ You have forgotten, you did not love her.” 

“ I did love her, for a time, unknown even to my- 
self, and the long months that have followed my 
awakening, have deepened and intensified the love, 
that would not be destroyed.” 

She believed that he spoke the truth, and his 
thrilling earnestness impressed her profoundly. 
In tremulous silence, she listened, but did not even 
look up, and he continued : 

“The years, the bitter years have taught me, 
Clare, the meaning of true love ; and I believe no 
spurious passion, could again mislead me. Twice I 
have bowedall that was noblest in me, with more 
than pagan blindness and idolatry, before a woman’s 
beauty ; and twice have met with direst shipwreck. 
Each time the dream was brief, the awakening hor- 
rible ; but, dearest, in all the integrity of my man- 
hood, I swear to you, I never loved them ; to my 
bitter shame I own it. An ardent worship of beauty, 
and headlong impetuous passions, that could not 


288 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


brook denial, the legacy of my race ; joined to the 
madness of my own belief, that to such matchless 
perfection, physically, spiritual imperfection was 
impossible, or if possible, abnormal only, lulled to 
security those truer instincts, that would, in time, 
have saved me from my recklessness. Of my wife 
I have never spoken to you, Clare, nor of those un- 
happy years, that should have been so blest. As 
you have seen in her picture, she was very beautiful, 
but in nothing like Maud Tremaine. 

“ From first to last she was a child, in her eager 
instinctive longing for pleasure; and rfo higher 
thought seemed ever to find lodgment in her brain. 
She loved life intensety, and with the keen instincts 
of animal nature, revelled in its sunshine, and 
avoided whatever could bring her pain. However 
freely I opened to her my mind and heart, she 
would not read, and they remained forever a sealed 
book ; but for all that, from pure malice, I believe 
she wronged no one, nor ever thought evil of a 
human being. One love pervaded her life, the only 
evidence of a soul’s existence ; this was the love 
she bore her father. For our little Rene, she seemed 
to entertain much the feeling that a child will 
for its toy ; amused with it one moment and the 
next, ready to cast it aside, for some new pleasure. 
As for myself, I was least of all, in her thoughts 
and affections. In short I was alone, in that terrible 
loneliness, from which there is no escape, the bond- 
age of unmated souls.” 

He paused, overcome by the rush of feelings long 
buried. She looked up at him, a passion of pity in 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


289 


her glorious eyes, and trembling on her lips ; but 
she did not speak. Seeing all the tenderness in 
that glowing face, he sat down near her, and said 
gently : 

“ Clare, dear one, must my dream of happiness 
be in vain, or will you trust me with your life? 
I have no fear, but that you can make mine per- 
fect.” 

She did not answer, and he could not soe the 
thrilling eyes. 

“ Look up, my love, my only love ; you khow all 
that I have suffered and know, too, how I love you. 
Then, do not torture me with suspense, I can not 
bear it,” once more he said, entreatingly, eager pas- 
sion in his eyes, and quivering in his voice. 

Nearer he came to her ; she could hear his short 
quick breathing, knew his agony, and with unfalter- 
ing trust, slowly lifted to his, her tender love-lit 
face ; and he read the burning words, her lips re- 
fused to speak. 

“ My own, all mine at last, thank God,” he said, 
with passionate emphasis, as he took her to his 
heart and kissed rapturously, the lovely eyes and 
trembling mouth. 

“ My own dear love, have you no words for me ? ” 
he asked, with love’s soft pleading, and she answered 
low : 

“ I love you, and have loved you long. Better 
than my own life, I love you, and will love you 
always,” then hid her blushing face upon the breast 
that henceforth would be her shield, from every ill, 
that human strength can compass. 

T 13 


290 AN IDEAL FANATIC. 

He was too wildly, too supremely happy, to 
think of aught but present bliss ; hour followed 
hour, and the morning was entirely gone, before he 
asked Clare of her father’s absence. 

She told him all she knew, and he was surprised 
to find it so very little ; but thinking that it might 
be, in truth, a business matter, which if explained, 
could be of no vital importance to any one but Mr. 
Vivien himself, he dismissed all thought of it, and 
the next moment asked tenderly : 

“ Shall we go now, dear, to your mother, or do 
you prefer waiting until your father’s return ? ” 

“ I think I would rather wait,” she answered, 
shrinking from the thought of intruding their joy 
upon her sad mother. 

“ Let it be so then ; and now, dearest, you must 
tell me how long my probation is to be,” he said, a 
smile radiating his handsome face. 

“ I do not understand you,” she replied, with 
woman’s prevarication, but in too much confusion 
he plainly saw, to be precisely truthful. 

“ I mean, my darling,” he said, the tenderness 
deepening in his eyes, “ how soon shall the day 
come, when you will lay this little hand in mine, 
and say, ‘ until death us do part.’ I know, beloved, 
that you are mine, but all the world must know it 
too,” he finished, with earnest warmth. 

She had given no thought to anything but 
their loves ; and for the first time recalled the un- 
happy circumstances that had at last united them, 
and with innate delicacy shrank from publicity. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


291 


He felt her start and tremble, and divining its 
cause instinctively, asked : 

“ Clare, dearest can it be, that in these arms, 
assured of a love, man feels but once, you can yet 
fear the world’s verdict? Little coward, I will have 
none of that,” he added masterfully, but with per- 
fect good nature, and held her more firmly. 

She drew away from him as she answered gently, 
but decidedly : 

“ It is not so much the world’s opinion that I 
fear, as the possible wounding afresh, of my mother’s 
already crushed and bleeding heart.” 

He had loved her so madly, and longed so in- 
tensely, to make her his own, that no thought of 
this had come to his mind; and he colored with 
shame, for his selfish forgetfulness ; but was by no 
means preparecMor a long engagement, and felt that 
he could not yield without a struggle if she pro- 
posed one. 

“ I own that my happiness lies in your love, and 
the hope of one day being your wife, but none the 
less, I feel that we owe to my mother, to delicacy, 
and to ourselves, the deferring of our marriage at 
least one year,” she said, with marvelous sweetness, 
but the same underlying firmness. 

“ A year, a whole year ! ” he exclaimed, aghast. 
“ That would be an eternity to me ; you cannot 
mean this, Clare ; or would you drive me mad ? ” 

Almost fiercely he took her in his arms once 
more, as he continued : 

“ Dearest, can it be that you doubt my truth, 


292 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


my constancy, and are thus putting me to this fear- 
ful test? ” 

“Mr. St. George, knowing me so well, how can 
you ask a thing so cruel?” she said, feeling deeply 
hurt and again moving away from him. 

“ Mr. St. George,” he repeated, “ and am I only 
Mr. St. George to you still, my darling? Have you 
no dearer name for me?” he asked with such tender 
pathos, that in her heart, she forgave unasked, the 
impenitent sinner, and laying her hand upon his 
blond head, said gently : ' 

“Harold, my love, my darling.” 

This moment’s softness, maddened him again, 
and once more he plead with all love’s eloquence, 
for a lessening of these days of pain. 

“If I could this very hour, before all the world, 
I would make you mine; then think? beloved, what 
misery you doom me to in this long torturing year ; 
in which each day will be o’ercast with doubt, 
suspense and fear,” he said with deepening pas- 
sion. 

She loved him tenderly, and pitied him in his 
disappointment, but convinced him at last, that 
neither love nor pity could move her from her con- 
victions of right. 

“ One year from to-day, if you like, Harold, I 
will be your wife ; but, dearest, as you love me, 
urge me no more to shorten the time. I will see 
you often and be near you always ; and no sorrow 
can come to you that I will not share. How, then, 
can our waiting bring such pain ? ” 

He did not answer her, but looked long into the 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


298 


lustrous eyes that were lifted to his with fondest 
inquiry. 

“ Farewell, until to-morrow, and let me warn 
you now, that unless my perverse love shall revoke 
her cruel edict, three hundred and sixty-five to- 
morrows shall herald me a visitor at Claremont,” he 
said at last, and smiled rarely into the eyes that 
were looking love to his. 

Again and again he attempted to leave her, but 
each time returned as if his love had left unsaid 
words vital to the happiness of both. 

To the gate at last she went with him, and ling- 
ering farewells were spoken. 

This parting from her lover recalled to Clare 
Vivien’s mind that other and sadder one, when it 
was her painful duty to send forth to the world a 
disappointed, desolate, and almost broken-hearted 
man ; and in the midst of her own great happiness, 
she paid the tribute of a sigh to the unhappy lover, 
from whom she had not even heard since that sad 
day. 

In the afternoon Mrs. Vivien received a letter 
from her husband, containing nothing of import- 
ance, save that he was quite well, and would be at 
home in a few days. 

At almost the same hour Mr. St. George received 
a telegram, summoning him to New York. As it 
was from his friend, it is needless to say that he 
obeyed it at once. He had no time to see Clare, 
but left her a farewell note, in which he said 
nothing that could alarm her, nor left unsaid aught 
that could re-assure her if alarmed. 


294 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


It was, however, impossible for her not to con- 
nect his sudden and singular absence with her 
father, and it required all the fortitude and philos- 
ophy that had been born of suffering, to prevent 
her from betraying this anxiety to her unhappy 
mother. 

With morbid self-consciousness, she accepted 
this new torture as punishment for a happiness that 
even she had felt at times to be unseemty in the 
midst of so much gloom, and in the terror and 
misery of her suspense, dared not hope for its con- 
tinuance. 

No letters came, and an entire week passed 
bfore Mr. Vivien and Mr. St. George returned. 

Clare, whose anxiety had grown almost beyond 
her powers of repression, met them first, and as she 
greeted them, saw in both faces the shadow of a 
coming sorrow. Giving her father no time to speak, 
she put her arms about his neck, and asked in a fal- 
tering voice : 

“What is it, father? My heart tells -me that 
something terrible has occurred. What is it ?” 

“ My child, I have indeed sad tidings for you,” 
Mr. Vivien answered, and paused, momentarily, 
overcome by his emotions. 

Clare listened with strained eagerness and 
wonder, but was wholly unprepared for the 
mournful news he had been forced to bring her. 

“For your sister Maud we fear the worst,” he 
continued, sadly. “ Since tl^e hour they arrived in 
New York, Mr. Alton has never seen her. When they 
reached the hotel, he conducted her to the reception- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


295 


room, and going straight to the office, procured 
rooms and returned ; but his wife was nowhere to 
be seen, and for a long week, with the aid of the 
New York police, he searched for her day and night. 
At first, believing it some mad freak to punish him, 
he had a hope that she would return ; but as day 
followed day, and she did not come, he first wrote, 
then telegraphed to me, and as you know, on the 
same day I received both. After I reached there,* 
all past efforts were redoubled ; but they were in 
vain, and in my despair I telegraphed for Harold. I 
needed his counsel and assistance, as by that time 
Mr. Alton was half-crazed, and incapable of thought 
or action. He came at once, God bless him ; and I 
believe we left no clue unfollowed, and nothing 
undone that could have traced the missing one, if 
she had been alive ; but, darling, at last the convic- 
tion forced itself upon us that she was not, and had, 
alas ! too surely found a watery grave.” 

“ Oh ! my mother, her mother,” Clare moaned 
aloud, as Mrs. Vivien, who had been summoned, by 
the noise of their arrival, entered the room. She 
heard Clare’s words, and wild with apprehension, 
rushed to her husband and asked excitedly : 

“ Is Maud ill, Chester ? Has anything happened 
to her ? ” 

Her coming was so sudden, that for a moment he 
could not speak, and she almost shrieked : 

“ Oh ! tell me, or you will drive me mad.” 

“ Adah, my darling wife, when we have reached 
yonr own room, I will tell you everything,” he said, 


296 


AN IDEAL FANATIC* 


gently, and putting one arm tenderly about her, led 
her from the room. 

Clare saw them go, and weeping bitterly bowed 
her face upon a table near her. In sorrowful silence, 
Mr. St. George had been looking on, and now seated 
himself beside her, and laid one hand caressingly, 
upon her head. Neither spoke, and in this silence a 
half hour passed ; then rising, Clare said mourn- 
fully : 

“ Harold, dearest, I am going to my mother, and 
must say farewell.” 

He made no effort to detain her, but led her to 
the door, kissed softly the hand he held and 
said : 

“Good-by, my love, I pity you in your sorrow, 
even as I love you.” 

When she was out of sight, he returned to the 
library, where he awaited Mr. Vivien’s return. He 
knew the story that his friend would tell to the 
stricken mother. That in a fit of temporary insanity, 
it was supposed, her daughter had wandered to 
the river and been drowned, and that, although the 
body had not been found, no doubts remained in 
their minds. How tenderly she had loved that 
daughter, he knew, and pitied deeply the heart he 
could not comfort. He had been left alone almost 
an hour, when Mr. Vivien returned. 

“ Oh ! Harold, this is terrible,” he groaned, as he 
seated himself ; “ she is so white, so still, in her 
mute, agonizing grief, that I cannot bear it. If 
she would only weep, rave, do anything but look 
like that. It breaks my heart.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


297 


Mr. St. George said all that could be said to com 
fort him, and before he left, promised to return that 
night. 

Hour. after hour, Mrs. Vivien remained in the 
same stony apathy, with scarce a sign of life or move- 
ment, except those dry, despairing eyes, that 
turned mournfully from husband to child. No 
sound escaped her lips, and as time passed, and she 
did not change, Mr. Vivien’s alarm increased, and 
in his anxiety he sent Joseph for Dr. Upton. 

When the doctor arrived, he told him all the 
sad circumstances before taking him to his wife’s 
room. 

Clare had prevailed upon her mother to lie down, 
and was sitting by the bedside, holding her hands, 
when they entered. Mrs. Vivien manifested no 
surprise at the doctor’s presence, and in truth seemed 
not to observe him. He took her hand, as he 
seated himself in the chair Clare had vacated, and 
looked at her intently, but attempted no conver- 
sation. 

When he left the room, Mr. Vivien followed him 
to the library below, and asked, with an anxious 
face : 

“ What do you think of her, doctor ? ” 

“ I think that this blow has been sudden, and 
very terrible, and that we must do all we can, to re- 
lieve her at once,” was the answer. 

He did not say, that he feared for her brain, but 
from the prescriptions, and his ordering ice to her 
head, Mr. Vivien knew that he did. 

“ Send Margaret to your wife, Chester ; she is a 


298 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


good nurse, and a good one is needed,” Dr. Upton 
said when leaving. 

Each hour proved to the anxious husband, that 
his fears were only too well founded, and when the 
doctor came a few hours later, he found his patient 
delirious, and fever advancing rapidly. 

Dark, terrible hours followed these, for the 
wretched husband and child, but all that human 
skill, and human love could do for the unhappy suf- 
ferer, was done. Dr. Upton or his son, were with 
her almost constantly, and Harold St. George did not 
leave Claremont, but was there ready to do what- 
ever might be required. 

There were long, agonizing days of suspense, 
when the soul seemed to tremble and wing itself for 
flight ; then arrested by God’s mysterious will, and 
those agencies he had seen fit to use, it paused, and 
sank back, to almost deathlike torpor, and those 
who were watching in so much anguish, knew that 
there was hope. 

She lived, but long and tedious was her conva- 
lescence. Clare seldom left her side, and was often 
repaid for her devotion, by tender kisses, and sweet, 
sad smiles. 

In this pale mourner, none would have recognized 
the proud, handsome woman, who in her ambition 
for her darling would have sacrificed the happiness 
of so many. Slowly but surely she regained her 
strength, and as usual went about her household 
duties ; but both father and daughter felt with sor- 
row, that her heart was not in them. 

Through the holidays, the gloom that hung over 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


299 


Claremont, seemed to some extent to shadow the 
neighborhood and village of Olney. Even among 
the young there was but little gayety, and the new 
year came in almost unheralded ; for Mr. St. George 
felt that, under existing circumstances, all merry 
making at Olney Heights would be out of taste if 
nothing more ; and at the Trafton’s there were too 
many sad hearts, to even think of hospitality. Of 
course at Claremont nothing of the kind was ex- 
pected, and as these families had taken the lead in 
social events, society was naturally depressed. 

Glen Trafton had gone weeks before to a West- 
ern city, with the intention of making it his home. 
To Clare he never repeated that one sad farewell ; 
but left without seeing her again. Judge Trafton 
bitterly regretted his son’s decision, and preferred 
him to remain in his native place, where, as part 
owner of the mills he was prospering well ; but see- 
ing that his purposes were fixed, no longer opposed 
them. 

Not one of Mr. Trafton’s family divined the 
cause of his sudden leaving ; for he had been so 
reticent in his love making, that they did not even 
suspect that he loved ; and Clare had been too 
generous to betray her rejected lover, even to her 
betrothed. 

When Glen Trafton’s sister, who was her one 
dear friend, in her presence, wept for her brother’s 
going, she took her lovingly in her arms, and with 
keenest sympathy wept also ; but allowed no word 
to pass her lips, that could betray a secret both had 
kept so well. 


300 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


At this time a series of festivals were inaugur- 
ated, for the purpose of raising funds, to be devoted 
to the furnishing of a new church that had been built 
and presented by Mr. St. George, to the congrega- 
tion. The enterprise was in itself commendable ; 
but the pleasure and excitement to be derived from 
the entertainments were doubtless an added attrac- 
tion, for both old and young seemed to devote their 
best energies to making it a success. 

One morning as young Dr. Upton was leaving 
home, he said to his father : 

“ I am going to the festival hall, and will offer 
my services for a short time ; as I have not been 
there during the week, I think it is my duty ; but 
should you need me, send for me at once.” 

The thing that he proposed doing, was in itself 
unusual, as in the six months he had been at home, 
he had devoted but little time to social life and its 
pleasures. He was therefore prepared for some 
surprise ; but scarcely for his father’s question, 
asked with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes: 

“ Are you quite sure, my son, that it is not a 
pair of dark eyes rather than zeal for the church 
that is leading you there.” 

“ As I have no idea whose eyes you mean, you 
may judge how innocent I am of the charge,” the 
young man answered good-humoredly, but blushing 
slightly. 

“ You do not mean to tell me, Alfred, that you 
have again and again looked into those tender, 
thrilling eyes ; and never felt that they alone could 
win an Upton’s heart. Ah ! that blush betrays you, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


301 


and it is well for you my boy, that Father Time 
cannot take back from me a score of years, or else I 
might prove a dangerous rival.” 

The old man paused as if for an answer, but as 
his son seemed still unenlightened, he continued : 

“ What, ignorant still ! fie on you, for an Upton ! 
Those glorious eyes light too, a face fair as a seraph’s ; 
there is but one such face among us ; you must 
divine my meaning.” 

“ You mean Clare Vivien. I own father, that 
she is very beautiful ; as beautiful as woman need 
ever be,” young Upton answered, then added with 
a smile : 

“ But what care I how fair she be, 

If she be not fair for me.” 

“ Faint heart never won fair lady,” quoted the 
father, sententiously. 

“Are you so blind, father, as not to see, that it 
would be madness, for me to love Clare Vivien ; when 
those lovely eyes turn ever to another, and he alone 
has power to awaken those tender, thrilling glances 
that you speak of,” the young man asked, and Dr. 
Upton testily replied : 

“ Stuff and nonsense, Clare is a child and has not 
dreamed of love.” 

“If I am not greatly mistaken,” the son said, 
“ this same blindness, with which you are afflicted, 
has already darkened one noble life. For I believe 
Glen Trafton loved Clare Vivien, and asked her in 
vain to be his wife. He confided his secret to no 
one, and this girl is too intrinsically noble, to boast 


302 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


of her conquest ; hence no one can be positive ; but 
none the less I believe it, and while I am not quite 
positive of this, I know that she loves Harold St. 
George, and since that dreadful day, when her young 
life was so nearly sacrificed, in my mind, I have 
not doubted, that he loved her in return. While 
I knew him to be the betrothed husband of another, 
I felt that to Clare alone he had given his heart, 
and loving both of them as friends, I cannot tell 
you with what deep delight, I witnessed that 
strange and fateful marriage, which gave him free- 
dom. ” 

“Can you not be mistaken, my son ? ” the father 
asked. 

“ No ! in this I am not mistaken, although it is 
not publicly known, for Mr. St. George’s intimacy 
with Mr. Vivien is of such long standing, that his 
daily visits are unnoticed ; but mark me, it will 
soon be known to all, that he is Clare Vivien’s ac- 
cepted lover,” was the decided answer. 

“Well, well, I was never more surprised in my 
life,” Dr. Upton said, then, with a tender, quizzical 
smile in his fine eyes, he asked : 

“ Are you quite sure, my son, that you can look 
calmly on, and feel no pang of regret? ” 

“Quite sure,” the son answered, “for it would 
be impossible to regret, that which I have been too 
wise to covet.” 

He did not add, what would have been so truth- 
ful, that he had found in another’s eyes, the tender- 
ness and light, he hoped would make his sunshine ; 
for this hope he had not even confided to Agnes 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


803 


Trafton, and therefore could not to his father ; but 
with an abrupt good-morning, left him to ponder 
over this shattered scheme of happiness for his 
son. _ 

From childhood Clare Vivien had been the darl- 
ing favorite of the old man’s heart, and with tender- 
est ardor, she had returned his manifested love, and 
paid him all the reverence and respect due to his 
years. He had watched her through her long ill- 
ness, with a father’s love and care, and with a 
father’s joy had seen at last, approaching health. 
For months' the wish had grown upon him, that his 
son would make her his wife ; but the airy bubble 
had bursted, and for some moments, in his great dis- 
appointment, he was unable to rejoice in her happi- 
ness. But soon he buried from sight all selfish 
wishes, and from the depths of a generous heart 
thanked God, that she loved so worthily and was so 
well beloved. 


304 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


CHAPTER XXVIII, 


LA VETURIE. 


“ Her wondrous beauty drew 


The gaze and admiration of all eyes; 

Not less than if some strange star in the skies, 

Or blazing comet’s more resplendent tire 
Appeared; a murmur far before her flies, 

And crowds press round to listen or enquire 

Who the fair pilgrim is, and soothe their eyes’ desire.” 


—Tasso. 


ORE than a year had passed, since the bright 



morning when Harold St. George and his 
young wife said farewell to home, and the myriad 
friends, whose blessings followed them to foreign 
lands ; and yet they were wanderers still. In time 
hallowed and inspiring Rome, they had remained 
the first winter; and to Clare it was a season of 
rapturous delight ; the realization of her most golden 
dreams. To be in Italy, the land of poetry, love and 
song, with one so .tenderly and so passionately 
loved; to be in Rome, that imperial city of the 
arts, where at every turn her eyes mould meet 
some monument of past genius, and be assured, 
that whatever rapture she might feel, would meet 
responding rapture in the eyes she loved ; what 
greater bliss could mortal hope for ? And often in 
the solemn stillness, as they stood beneath St. Peter’s 
lofty dome, or wandered through basilicas less re- 
nowned, gazing with wonder and delight, at each 


AN IDEAL FANATrC. 


805 


new proof of man’s almost God-like genius, with 
which the walls were glowing, she would ask her- 
self this question, and devoutly thank her Heavenly 
Father for their perfected lives. 

With as keen an appreciation of the beautiful as 
herself, Mr. St. George in her pleasure and sym- 
pathy, enjoyed anew, and as he had never done, 
beauties in both art and nature, that in other days 
had palled upon his blighted heart ; and more than 
once he had said to her with all a lover’s tenderness : 

“Until now, dearest, I have never lived, for my 
whole life has been one long hope without fruition ; 
but the fair ideal that through all the sin and blind- 
ness of my past, was still most cherished, and most 
longed for, I have found in you, my own, my wife.” 

Reluctantly, and almost with tears, they said 
farewell to the sunny land that had been a para- 
dise of love, and journeyed to the East. 

Through its most storied countries they wan- 
dered ; and even though arid deserts and rugged 
mountain paths sometimes beset their way, they felt 
themselves repaid for all their toil, by scenes and 
wonders long renowned. 

In Palestine, the land made sacred by the foot- 
prints of the God adored by every Christian heart, 
they visited each spot that religion has consecrated 
to His memory, and His worship, and left them with 
no mocking skepticism in their hearts, but with a 
feeling of tender reverence, for those whose love and 
faith would cherish and preserve to generations yet 
unborn, His birth and burial-place. 

“What matters it, if even they are mistaken, and 
U 13* 


306 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


God in His wisdom has seen fit to remove from 
earth all trace of His divine presence, as surely as 
He has removed from man’s intrusion, that lovely 
garden, from which our first parents were driven 
with flaming swords ; let science do its worst, the 
love is beautiful, the faith sublime,” Clare St. 
George had said with enthusiasm, in answer to the 
inquiry, if she believed it possible for all the tradi- 
tions of these people to be true. 

It was their last day in Jerusalem, once the 
delight of God’s chosen people, and within whose 
walls had blazed the glory and splendor of Solo- 
mon’s throne and temple, and, even in its decay, 
sacred to three religions. 

They were seated, with a party of fellow- 
travelers, in one of those lovely and picturesque 
gardens that are so common on the house-roofs in 
the East, taking their last look at the holy city. In 
the view were blended Moslem mosque and 
Christian temple, and thinking of that banished 
race, whose wisdom and splendor had made Jeru- 
salem famous before all the world, she had asked, 
involuntarily : 

“Will the day ever come, when the children of 
Abraham shall come again to their own, and once 
more restore these crumbling walls to their pristine 
beauty and glory?” And one of the party 
answered : 

“ Faith worketh wonders, and there is great faith 
in Israel.” 

It had been months since then, but now in the 
gay city of Paris, in the midst of its modern splen- 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


807 


dor and alluring pleasures, she recalled with emo- 
tion that one day, so steeped in the memories of a 
vanished past. She was in the Hotel du Louvre, 
and quite alone, Mr. St. George having gone to see 
the American minister, and Rene and Celestine for 
a walk. Growing weary of her book, she had 
thrown it aside, and abandoning herself to these 
memories of a near and half-regretted past, sat 
looking dreamily out upon the Rue de Rivoli, when 
she was startled by Rene’s sudden entrance. 

“ Mamma, mamma ! we have seen her, Celestine 
and I, have seen the beautiful actress la Veturie. 
We were coming from the Champs-Elysees, and met 
her driving down the Rue de Rivoli in a splendid 
carriage; a crowd followed, and from them we 
learned who she was,” the child said, excitedly. 

“Is she, my child, as beautiful as we have 
heard ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, mamma! so beautiful, she almost took 
my breath away,” Rene answered, impetuously. 

Mrs. St. George looked smilingly into the eager, 
flashing eyes, and turning to Celestine, asked : 

“ Did you see her too, Celestine ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, I saw her, but not well, for at the first 
I did not know she was the lady so greatly cele- 
brated, and of whom we have so much heard. 
When I did know, it was too late ; madam had 
passed ; but mademoiselle, I think, saw her quite 
well.” 

At Rome, Naples, Florence, or wherever they 
had been in the past four months, this wonderful 
woman had preceded them, and left behind her 


308 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


marvelous stories of her surpassing charms. From 
whence she came none knew truly, and although 
some thought her Italian, and some English, she 
was most generally conceded to be French, and 
frpm fair Provence. 

“ We have overtaken at last, Harold, the beauti- 
ful act^ss, of whom we have heard so milch. She 
is here in Paris ; Rene saw her a few moments 
since ; and if she be playing, you must take us to 
see her this very night,” Clare St. George said to 
her husband as he entered the room, with quite as 
much eagerness in her manner as Rene a little wlwle 
since had manifested, when relating her recent ad- 
venture. 

“ Of course I will take you,” Mr. St. George 
answered, smiling at her enthusiasm, and putting 
one arm around her, he looked down tenderly into 
the eloquent eyes, and continued : “ I suppose my 

young beauty worshiper, must allude to the famous 
la Veturie. She is playing an engagement here, 
and all Paris is at her feet. The people are wild 
with enthusiasm, and old men and young men, wise 
men, and simpletons, have alike lost their heads, to 
her incarnate loveliness. Of her genius I hear but 
little, and presume that in comparison with her 
matchless beauty, it is but little thought of. They 
say that she smiles on none, or rather smiles on all, 
but serenely keeps her unapproachable heights ; and 
that into the frozen calm, which walls her heart, no 
man has dared intrude. In fact, my love, I have heard 
so many marvelous stories told, of this paragon of 
all the graces, that in a day I could scarce relate 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


809 


them. I believe, however, that her most noted 
peculiarity, being a beautiful woman, is, her positive 
refusal to sit for a picture. That this is true, you 
have already heard ; and it is said, that nowhere on 
the continent of Europe, or so far as known in the 
world, is there a picture of her in existence, al- 
though artists, inspired by the memory of her 
beauty, have attempted in vain, to convey to can- 
vas, the loveliness, that defies them. But, my 
child, if you have seen this miracle of beauty, tell 
us what she is like,” he concluded, laying his hand 
caressingly on Rene’s head. 

“ Like nothing I have ever seen on earth, papa. 
Her hair looked like threads of gold, and her face 
was white as marble, and as perfect as that of the 
Venus we saw in the Uffizzi gallery,” she answered. 

“ O, young enthusiast ! listening to you , no 
wonder mamma has been infected. I must remove 
the spell of this enchantress, and can think of no 
better way, than taking both of you to see her,” he 
said jestingly, as he left them, with the intention of 
procuring seats if possible. 

He knew that evening was to be one of those 
famous “first nights,” which seemingly all Paris de- 
sires to see, and only a very small minority succeed in 
seeing ; and understood perfectly that it would be a 
difficult thing to do ; but had lived sufficiently long 
in Paris to be well acquainted with its best methods 
in all such emergencies, and really succeeded, with 
less trouble to himself than he had anticipated. 

When they entered the theater it was already 
crowded with an eager expectant audieAce. Madam 


310 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Veturie was to appear in a new r61e. Rer fame was 
already established, but the play was for the first 
time to come before the publ ic, to receive from its 
caprice, the verdict of “ life or death.” 

From the time the curtain rose, there was breath- 
less stillness through the house. It was near the 
end of the act, when amid tumultuous applause, la 
Veturie made her first entrance. Spell-bound, each 
listener caught the intonations of that melodious 
voice. Her beauty was only half revealed, but by 
the power and sweetness of the unrivaled voice 
alone, she swa} r ed the vast audience, and led them 
on in rapture from tenderest pathos, to profoundest 
passion ; until in the midst of thundering applause, 
the curtain fell. 

That thrilling voice had reached a listener’s 
heart, and stirred some chord of memory anew. 
Harold St. George turned wonderingly to his wife, 
as if to find response to thoughts that were scarcely 
framed ; but she was looking intently towards the 
stage, and seemed unconscious of his glance. 

“ How marvelously that voice is like one I have 
heard,” he thought, and wondered if Clare had ob- 
served it too; but had no intention of reminding 
her of it, if she had not. 

Once more Veturie was on the stage, and her 
audience listened breathlessly. For once she seemed 
inspired, and surpassed even herself. Her most 
ardent admirers, felt that they had undervalued her 
talents, and given undue prominence to her beauty. 

Again, and again, Mr. St. George fancied that he 
met her glance. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


311 


“ Can I be mistaken,” be thought, “ for I could 
almost swear, that there is recognition in those 
beautiful eyes.” Once more he turned to his wife ; 
but she seemed utterly absorbed, and her eyes did 
not move from that face on the stage. 

Again the scene changed, and this time Madam 
Veturie’s beauty was adorned with all the splendor, 
that grace or fashion could suggest. No disfiguring 
head-gear, concealed the waving golden hair, that 
in rich masses crowned the regal head, which needed 
from art no other adornment. 

Her beauty was so dazzling, that the applause was 
still more deafening than it had been before. 

Unconsciously Clare grasped her husband’s hand; 
he felt her tremble, and looking, saw that she was 
pale. 

“What is it, dear?” he asked more calmly than 
he felt, for he was at last assured, that the sur- 
passing loveliness before him, was the same that he 
had once loved madly ; and that, too, but little 
changed. Only more developed, more commanding ; 
and art had turned to burnished gold, hair which 
had been purest flaxen. Yes ! he felt it ! knew it ! 
Madam Veturie, was Maud Tremaine in the splen- 
did maturity of her always matchless charms. 

Although he had not so expressed himself, he had 
never believed her dead, and this unexpected meet- 
ing was not to him, the startling surprise that it 
was to his wife, with whom it seemed almost a 
resurrection from the dead. 

She did not answer him in words, but lifted to 


312 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


his, eyes filled with shocked and questioning appeal. 
He read their meaning and replied at once : 

“ Yes, dearest, it is she ! Almost from her first 
appearance, I have believed that I recognized her 
voice ; but until this moment, could not be posi- 
tive.” 

With a low moan she sank back. Those in the 
nearest boxes believed her to be ill, and for a little 
while, the beautiful dark-eyed stranger divided their 
attention, with the lovely heroine, on the stage. • 

Mr. St. George bent tenderly over her, and whis- 
pered softly : 

“ Try to be calm, love ; if possible, I do not wish 
her to see that we recognize her. I am quite sure, 
that she saw us soon after her first entrance, and 
watches us narrowly.” 

“I will try, Harold,” she answered faintly, and 
he saw with alarm, that she was really ill. 

“ We will go now dear, if you prefer it,” he said 
anxiously ; but she declined, thinking it best to re- 
main, as the play would soon be over. 

Rene too, had at last recognized the beautiful 
woman, she had once tried so vainly to love, and 
looked with vague and curious wonder, at both 
father and mother. Partly she comprehended 
Clare’s agitation, but said nothing and only took 
one cold hand affectionately in hers. 

With a kind of weird fascination Clare’s ears 
took in the music of that heavenly voice, and her 
eyes followed the almost angelic vision. Once only 
she met those lovely eyes, and shuddered at the fancy, 
that almost a basilisk’s power was in their glance. 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


313 


In torturing suspense, she awaited the end, which 
soon came, and for the last time, the curtain fell. 

To thundering encores, Madam Veturie came, 
and in acknowledgment, bowed her queenly head. 
In the past, by the power of her transcendent 
beauty, the unutterable sweetness of her voice, and 
those nameless witcheries that enthrall the heart, 
she had won triumph after triumph ; but on this 
night for the first time in her life, she had been great. 

The play had suited her, and passions that had 
lifted her beyond herself, had electrified the heroine 
she personated. No triumph could have been more 
complete than hers, and from that night, the play 
was famous. 

As Mr. St. George bewildered and amazed, was 
leading his wife and daughter from the theater, a 
neatly folded note was handed to him ; he saw that 
it was addressed to Clare ; but as she had not ob- 
served it, put it in his pocket, thinking it best to 
deliver it when at home. Scarcely a word was 
spoken, until they reached their own apartments ; 
when overcome by the agitation she had endured so 
silently, Clare threw herself into her husband’s 
arms, and abandoned herself to violent weeping. 

“ Oh, Harold ! ” she said at last, “ what are we 
to do ? think of the long cruel lie she has been living, 
and the agony she has given her mother. How 
could she do it ? We must see her, Harold, and pre- 
vail upon her to return with us.” 

“We will do as you think best, my dear, al- 
though I have little hope, that this beautiful and 
famous woman, will listen to our entreaties ; but 
14 


314 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


at any rate, we must see her.” At this moment re- 
membering the note, and thinking that it might be 
from her, he took it out and handed it to his wife. 

With breathless haste she unfolded it, and read 
aloud : 

“ Mrs. St. George, 

Dear Madam, — Why do I read, such shocked dis- 
approbation in your face to-night, when, if you will remember, 
and you spoke the truth, it was once your fixed intention, to 
adopt the life that I have chosen. I told you then, that I Was 
best fitted to adorn the stage ; and feel some pride in the assur- 
ance, that I have not disgraced my noble art. You have, no 
doubt, believed me dead, and in your heart feel that it were bet- 
ter so ; but of that, no matter. My motive in writing, is to re- 
quest you, to leave undisturbed, the grave in which, almost three 
years ago, I buried a wretched past. I ask this, not only for my 
own, but for the sake of the only human being I love on 
earth, my mother. For all the anguish she must have suffered, I 
pity her profoundly ; but, knowing her nature, you must feeh 
with me, that her sorrow for the dead is better than a living 
agony. If you would open those healing wounds, reveal my ex- 
istence : for I would disappear at once, and this time more surely 
than before. In conclusion, without wishing to be ungracious, 

I will say, that I think it will be best, that we do not meet. I shrink 
with horror, from every link that can connect me with the past. 
Farewell forever, Veturie.” 

“ Oh ! Maud, Maud, how you have misunder- 
stood my heart,” Glare exclaimed. “ Shocked, it is 
true I was, but not a£ the actress, in whom I could 
have justly felt pride, but at the woman, and the 
daughter. What must we do, Harold ? ” 

Taking her gently in his arms, Mr. St. George 
answered : 

“ She did not mention me, dear, nor forbid my 
coming, and I will go at an hour when she receives, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


315 


and will scarcely be denied. She lives, I hear, in 
splendid apartments, and entertains most regally. 
When once I am admitted, I can outstay all other 
guests, hear from her own lips whatever she may 
have to say, and as it is your wish, use every argu- 
ment that I can frame, in persuading her to return 
with us to her mother.” 

“ Ask, too, Harold, if she will not see me.” 

“ I will ask her, if sh^ would like to see you, for 
my wife shall be not even her sister’s unwelcome 
guest,” he answered, with a touch of pride. 

On the following day, Mr. St. George procured 
Madam Veturie’s address, and at the proper hour, 
with no little trepidation, presented himself. When 
he entered her salon, it was already well filled, with 
her admirers of both sexes. Her self-possession was 
perfect, and there was no ray of recognition in her 
eyes, as she greeted him coldly, but politely, and 
after a few words, turned to another guest. For- 
tunately for him, he met several acquaintances, and 
to some extent his embarrassment was relieved. 

She did not again address him until they were 
alone. He was sitting at a table, examining list- 
lessly, a book of rare engravings ; when looking up 
he saw that she was at last disengaged. For one 
moment, she looked at him in haughty silence ; but 
approaching, she pointed to the engravings, and asked 
with the faintest irony in her voice : 

“Is Monsieur a connoisseur in those things?” 

Somewhat confused, he answered at random : 

“Oh! no, by no means, but I think these very 
fine.” 


316 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


“ Thank you ; they are my own selections,” she 
said blandly ; and after seating herself, as he said 
nothing, continued: 

“A friend told me this morning, that Monsieur 
had traveled much, and had but recently arrived in 
Paris.” 

Seeing that she was determined not to throw 
aside her mask, he boldly said : 

“ You must know that I did not come here to see 
Madam Veturie, the renowned actress, but Maud 
Alton, the sister of my wife.” 

“ And the woman you once grossly insulted,” 
she added, with indignant emphasis. 

“ In your heart, you know that I had no such 
intention,” he answered gravely. 

“How dared you, unbidden, intrude upon my 
privacy?” she asked, with deepening scorn. 

“ For the sake of those I love better than my 
pride, I have come to you this morning, as a sup- 
pliant ; and, madam, no scorn can prevent my saying, 
all that I came to say,” he answered firmly. 

“ You can have nothing to say, that will have 
any weight with me ; but that I may be soon rid, 
forever rid, of your presence, say all that you have 
to say, and say it quickly,” she said, in hot disdain. 

“ It pleased you, madam,” he commenced, “ to 
misjudge last night, your sister’s agitation ; for you 
must know her noble heart too well, not to have 
known, that it was the daughter, who had doomed 
to years of torturing suspense and misery, the 
mother who adored her, and not the actress she con- 
demned.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


817 


“ Can you, Harold St. George, knowing all that 
dreadful past, no matter what my sin had been ; 
can you censure me, for freeing myself from a 
marriage, both hideous and revolting?” she asked, 
pointing one white finger at his face. 

The question staggered him. He did not an- 
swer, and she continued: 

“ Was it not better for my mother, loving me 
as she did, to be left in ignorance of my shame 
and misery; and to believe that I quitted forever, 
the world in which I had erred so greatly ? ” 

As he looked at her then, her beauty seemed 
ennobled by the dignity and earnestness of genuine 
emotion, and while he knew that both duty and 
affection should have prompted her to bury pride, 
confide in her mother, and demand a lawful separa- 
tion from the man who was not, and in truth had 
never been a husband to her, knowing so well her 
proud spirit, and remembering that her religion 
granted no divorces, he could not find it in his soul 
to utterly condemn her. He shuddered as he recalled 
his own unloved shackles, and with a man’s strong 
instincts of freedom, almost believed her right; but 
remembering his promise to his wife, he answered : 

“ What you say may be true, and neither do I 
censure you for what you have done ; but it is not 
yet too late for you to repair much that you may 
regret. Return with us to your mother, and I feel 
that your whole life will be filled with love.” 

“ You must be mad to propose a thing like that 
to me. I know my mother’s pride too well, to 
believe she could be happy in my restoration, 


318 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


knowing the shame from which I fled ; and know it 
she must, at least in part, should I return. But 
more than this, the man from whom I fled still lives, 
and is as relentless as fate, and more pitiless than 
death. Think you that I could so rashly endanger 
my freedom ? No, never ! All-conquering as I am 
I shall remain, until time itself dethrones me. Go, 
Harold St. George, to those who sent you ; say, that 
my life and theirs must forever flow apart. My 
mother loves me, dead, and it is as well. I have 
long believed that I wronged your wife in both 
thought and deed, and although I have never loved 
her, if she can forgive me I will be glad of her for- 
giveness.” 

“ And you will see her,” he asked eagerly, feel- 
ing that Clare could have so much more influence 
with her than himself.. 

“No! a thousand times no ! already I have en- 
dured too much. If she had come in your place, it 
would have been more fittirtg ; but it is now too late 
to undo the mistake, and let me tell you that you 
owe this audience to my respect for your wife, and 
love for my mother, alone. But f<?r them, I would 
have dismissed you from my presence, with the 
loathing scorn. I feel.” 

She had risen to her feet, and in her passion 
seemed again, the beautiful, almost demoniac 
woman who, years before, so wrathfully defied him. 
He rose slowly, and bowing with haughty grace, 
said calmly : 

“ Your loathing I regret, madam, but regret far 
more, believe me, your harsh decision.” 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


819 


A wintry smile curved her red lips, as she an- 
swered, scornfully : 

“ No doubt you feel it deeply, but we will not 
prolong this interview by discussing it.”- 

After a slight pause, she said again : 

“ I will not see your wife, but if you will leave 
her address, I will write and tell her all that she 
can wish to know.” 

Without a word, he took out card and pencil, 
wrote the address, and feeling himself to be sum- 
marily dismissed, said: 

“ Good morning,” with frigid politeness, and left 
her. 

Several days passed, and they heard nothing 
from Madam Veturie, save through the press and 
public acclaim. 

At last a letter came to Clare, in which she gave 
her, as briefly as possible, the history of her past, 
and plead her own cause eloquently. Told her, too, 
of how she had fled from Mr. Alton, and going 
straight to a jeweler she had known in other days, 
had disposed of the immense solitaires she wore in her 
ears, and two valuable rings, and with the proceeds 
made her new start in life. Completely disguised, in 
a quiet boarding-house in New York, she remained 
four weeks. When they had ceased to look for her, 
in the same disguise, she took passage for Europe, 
and, arriving in Paris, commenced at once preparing 
for the stage. Six months were spent in Paris, and 
six in Florence. 

“ At the end of twelve months,” she wrote, “ in 
this city I made my first appearance, and was sue- 


820 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


cessful. Since then you have, perhaps, heard some- 
thing of my career, etc.” She told, also, of how 
she had kept herself posted as to all that was occur- 
ring at home ; and of her seeing Mr. Alton, herself 
unseen, in both Naples and Rome. 

“ He is the goading Nemesis from which I shrink 
with terror, the one human being that I fear,” she 
frankly stated ; and again : “ I do not believe that 
he thinks me dead, and I am convinced that these 
years have been to him one long, fruitless search ; 
but he does not dream of finding Maud Alton in la 
Veturie, and seeks for me in other paths. Motives 
scarcely comprehended by myself have impelled me 
to this confidence. I refrain from asking you not to 
betray me, feeling that with you my secret is safe. 
In conclusion, let me ask of you to forgive whatever 
wrong I may have done you in the past. Be to my 
mother more than I have been, or could ever be ; 
and be, also, what I have not been, and never will 
be, happy. Farewell, forever.” 

Thus ended the strange letter, and much as Clare 
desired to see her, under the circumstances, she was 
far too sensitive to think of intruding. 

Yet loth to leave her, they lingered long after the 
time appointed for their departure, hoping that 
something might occur, to change her determination, 
or that she would at least see them if nothing 
more. 

Each day had seemed to crown her with fresh 
laurels, and wherever they had been la Veturie was 
the theme of every tongue. One evening, at a brilliant 
reception, Mrs. St. George met for the first time, a 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


821 


rich young nobleman, of whose eccentricities and 
extravagant living, she had heard much. Soon 
after being presented to her, he asked, if she had 
seen Madam Veturie, how she liked he *, and if she 
did not think her very beau Iful ; to all of which 
questions, Clare answered affirmatively, but with 
painful constraint. 

“I think her,” said he, “the most remarkable 
woman I have ever met. To begin with, she is a con- 
summate actress ; not that she is a brilliant genius, 
by any means ; but she has those subtle intuitions, 
that divine almost at a glance, our hearts’ capacities 
and needs; and to minister to these, brings all the 
power of her wondrous beauty, and the witching 
sweetness of her voice ; then with feigned sympathy 
and emotion, leads us whither she will. As with 
individuals, so with her vast audiences, and none 
who do not know her well, could believe, that this 
beautiful, and seemingly emotional, and impassioned 
woman, is really as passionless and emotionless as 
any sculptured marble.” 

He spoke with bitterness, and Clare learned 
afterwards, that he had been, and was still, Madam 
Veturie’s most ardent lover ; and that he had fol- 
lowed her over the continent and made to her 
vainly, repeated offers of marriage. 

A few evenings after the reception, and the last 
of Madam Veturie’s engagement, at the end of the 
last act, when the curtain was about to fall, in an 
obscure part of the theater, a dark,' haggard looking 
man rose suddenly, and reaching out towards 
Y 


322 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Veturie one menacing hand, said with thrilling 
emphasis : 

“At last!” 

Through the entire evening he had watched her, 
with fierce intensity, and those who were seated 
near, had heard him groan aloud ; but at the time, 
believing him to be mad, or some rash enthusiast, 
in their pre-occupation, scarcely noticed him. 

To the fair woman, who was so soon to bid them 
farewell, those words seemed blighting. She reached 
one hand to her brow, and for a moment held it 
there, as if dazed by some sudden blow. Her lips 
seemed frozen, and for the words that should have 
come, there was only a low, almost inaudible sigh. 
The' curtain fell, and la Veturie was hidden forever, 
from her admiring audience. 

Loud and repeated encores were unresponded to, 
and at last the manager came before the curtain, 
and said that Madam Veturie was suddenly ill, and 
it was impossible for her to acknowledge their call. 

The next morning Mr. St. George heard of her 
sudden illness, also of the singular stranger and at 
once interpreted it aright. He told his wife and 
asked her to go with him to Madam Veturie. 

“ She will surely now listen to reason,” he said, 
“for she must see, that it will be far better to go 
home, confess all to her mother, and be ably pro- 
tected from this man’s persecution, should he at- 
tempt any.” 

With hope revived, they went to her apartments, 
but found that she had vacated them early in the 
morning, and they could learn from no one where 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


323 


she had gone, or in what direction. They hoped to 
find some message from her when they returned, 
and were again disappointed. 

In the afternoon, Mr. St. George heard that an 
American had died suddenly, either the night before 
or that morning, in the Hotel du Louvre. He was 
found dead in his room, and a post-mortem examina- 
tion revealed that he had died from heart disease. 
On inquiry, he learned that the dead man’s name 
was Alton ; and going at once to the proper authori- 
ties, as a friend, took possession of the body. 

From his papers, old letters, and memoranda, Mr. 
St. George, understood much of the life he had led 
for the past few years ; but one idea seemed to* per- 
meate it, an almost vengeful search for his missing 
wife. What money he had accumulated, previous 
to his last return, was invested in bank stock in 
New York, and on the small income from this, he 
had led his restless, wandering life. But it was all 
over at last, and the unquiet spirit at rest. 

Mr. St. George had pitied deeply, the unhappy 
man, and felt that death was a gain to him, since his 
life held no promise of happiness or usefulness. 

In all of the most widely circulated Parisian 
journals they had his death published, hoping that 
it might meet Maud Alton’s eyes, and also adver- 
tised urgently and repeatedly for her , but no an- 
swer came. 

In Pere la Chaise, they buried him, and soon 
after left Paris, resolved, if possible, to find the mis- 
sing woman, who, before the law, had been his wife. 

Through England, Germany, Switzerland and 


324 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


Italy, they searched for her in vain. As la Veturie 
and as Maud Alton, she seemed to have disappeared 
and left no trace behind her. At last, after long, 
weary weeks, they had a hope that she was found. 

From choice they traveled by vettura from 
Florence to Rome ; and Mr. St. George learned 
from their vetturino, by the mere accident of a 
chance conversation, that a beautiful woman an- 
swering to her description, and unattended save by 
a maid, had near Arezzo, met with an accident, 
which had injured her for life, by the overturning of 
the vettura in which she was traveling. One wheel 
had come off and precipitated the vehicle, over a 
slight embankment. No one else was seriously hurt, 
but this lady, and one of her limbs was badly 
crushed. 

“ They took her to Arezzo,” he said, where he 
learned she had been carefully nursed by nuns, and 
had at last sufficiently recovered to be removed to 
Rome, where, he understood, she was to take the 
veil. 

“ Her uncommon beauty,” the man said too, 
44 elicited from all, curiosity, and deep interest in 
her fate. We heard, also,” he concluded, 44 that she 
was a famous woman in disguise, and naturally have 
tried to follow her movements.” 

After reaching Rome, having little doubt of 
Maud Alton’s identity with the unfortunate lady of 
whom the vetturino had told them, they left no 
means untried to discover her retreat, but found not 
even a trace of her, until it was publicly known, 
that la Veturie, the beautiful and renowned actress, 


AN IDEAL FANATIC. 


325 


had voluntarily renounced the world, its pomps and 
vanities, to become the bride of the church. 

In vain they attempted to see her, and all com- 
munications that they addressed to her, were re- 
turned unopened. 

Like waves against some rock-bound shore, the 
world that had worshiped her, with rash protestings 
surged against her sacred prison doors ; then rolled 
back, leaving no impress, and bearing away no 
sign. 

La Veturie was as dead to them, as if she had 
passed from the bonds of time. 


THE END. 


THE BED ACORH. 

By JOHN McELROY, 

Editor Toledo Blade , and Author of “Andersonville, etc,, etc. 

An elegant i2mo., of 322 pages. Black and gold side and 
back stamp. Cloth. Price, $1.25. 


READ THE PRESS NOTICES. 

The Red Acorn. 

“ It is a bright, humorous and attractive story of the late war.” — Chronicle- 
Herald (Philadelphia). 

The Red Acorn. 

“ The book is rich in incident, and gives a very faithful picture of army 
life.” — National Tribune (Washington, D. C.) 

The Red Acorn. 

“ It is a wonderfully realistic story, so true to life in its descriptions, and 
in the naturalness of its characters, as to lead the reader to believe it was 
history and biography, and not romance. It is the unusual realistic character 
of the book which gives it prominence above books of its kind.” — Inter- 
Ocean (Chicago). 

The Red Acorn. 

“ An admirable novel , called by a name made glorious as the badge of the 
First Division of the Fourteenth Army Corps, fc The Red Acorn.’ * * * 

Each is a strongly marked and individual creation, who contributes not a 
little to the thrilling interest of the story.” — Tribune (Chicago). 

The Red Acorn. 

“ The characters love, laugh, fight and endure In much the same rollicking, 
devil-may-care style which makes the soldier-life in Charles O'Malley so 
enlivening.” — American Bookseller (New York). 

The Red Acorn. 

41 The book is a realistic story of real people, who bore the heat and burden 
of the late war. It is carefully and gracefully written, and the characters 
become live men and women to the reader. The book will become popular 
with those fond of fiction which is true to life.” — Daily Sews (Denver). 

The Red Acorn. 

“The way John McElroy in his new story, ‘The Red Acorn,’ sets his 
people to love-making and talking about it, is very refreshing. It is a story 
of the war; brimful of realism and right smart talk. * * * There is snap 
in Rachel Bond; something winning about Aunt Debby. It is not a dull 
book.” — Times (Philadelphia). 

The Red Acorn. 

‘‘The romantic element is the most prominent in the tale; the historic is 
woven in in such a manner as to be highly attractive, enlivened by pungent 
dialogues and amusing incidents, and some really stirring descriptions.” — 
Times (Denver). 

Mailed, postage paid, to any address, on receipt of price, $1.25, 
by 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY, 

205 Wabash Avenue, Chicago. 


Hammock Series, No. 5. 


A Fair Plebeian. 

By MAY E. STONE. 

Author Doctor’s Protege, Etc., Etc. 


i2mo., 260 pp., Cloth, Gold and Black Stamps. 
Price, $1.25. 


“A Fair Plebeian is a society story far above the 
ordinary class of summer Novels, and adds to the high 
character of the ‘Hammock Series,’ which as yet does 
not contain a poor story. 

The author having had large experience gives us a 
smooth and finished work, and a story of delightful situa- 
tions and bright repartee. 

Kitty Kaw, the heroine, is as winsome a lass as one 
would wish to see. 

It is destined to have a very extensive sale if merit 
wins.” — Critic. 

By mail, post-paid on receipt of price. 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS , 

CHICAGO. 


THE SUCCESS OF THE YEAR. 

Hammock Series, No. i. 


“No Gentlemen. S! 

The brightest, most readable and entertaining novel of the season. 


WHA T THE PRESS SA V OF IT. 

46 We are soon amused, interested and charmed. Belonging to the da**- 
of stories popularly called * bright/ and published judiciously at the 
opening of the season of hammocks and piazzas, it is far more read- 
able than most of its kind. The plot is not too much of a plot cor a 
legitimate New England story, and the conversation of * Jabe ’ is racy 
enough to make us forget that we were tired of Yankee dialect, as 
treated by Mrs. Stowe and Mrs Whitney. Indeed the book is 
thoroughly enjoyable.'’ — The Critic , New York . 

“ No Gentlemen ” 

44 Is a very bright and readable novel.” — The Commercial , Louisville. 

“ No Gentlemen ” 

“.Clearly belongs to a class whose highest ambition is to be * bright ’ — ao 
ambition which, indeed, is seldom more fully justified.”-^ The Dial. 

u No Gentlemen ” 

“ Is readable, bright and never bores one.’’ — N. Y. Tribune. 

“The conversations in ‘No Gentlemen ’ are bright, the characters well 
drawn and adroitly contrasted.” — Am. Bookseller, N. Y. 

“ No Gentlemen 

“ Is written in a bright, fresh style, something like that of Mrs. A. D. 7 , 
Whitney, or more nearly, perhaps, that of the author of Phyllis ani 
Molly Bawn, which is to say, much of it. * * Girl graduates of the 
present season, into whose hands P falls, will seize upon it, after the 
first taste, as if it were a rosy ar . juicy peach ; which, so to speak, in 
a figure, it very nearly is.” — I \erary World , Boston . 

Hezekiah Butterwortli, in the Boston Transcript, says of * No Gentlemen” 
that the plot is well managed, and the story brightly told. 

“No Gentlemen.” 

44 The story opens in Boston, and concerns New England life. The char- 
acters, relative to the soil, are very clearly drawn, and there is a great 
deal of originality in the plot and treatment of the story.” — Boston 
Courier. 

44 It is a bright narrative of the summering of a half-dozen Boston girls just 
out of school, at Red Farm, in Pineland, with Miss Hopeful Bounce, 
who advertises for summer boarders, but * No Gentlemen? In order 
to make a novel, of course this prohibition must be broken down, and 
as the girls, particularly the heroine and her special friend, are pleas- 
ant company, the story is as readable as if it were a 4 No Name,’ as 
it is in fact.” — Springfield Republican. 

u No Gentlemen ” 

Is issued in elegant style, being printed on fine tinted paper, makmg a 
of 348 pages, bound in fine cloth, with unique side stamp in black 
And gold* and sold at the low price of $1.50, by the publishers, 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY, 

205 Wabash Aye., CHIP^GO 


AN INSTANTANEOUS SUCCESS. 


We, Von Arldens. 

A. Wew Novel “toy Miss Douglas. 


I2mo, 487 pp., illustrated. Cloth, side and back stamp. Retail 

price, $1.50. 


‘We, Von Arldens 

“ Is a novel which can not fail to become exceedingly popular with that 
portion of our people who find in a well written romance the neces- 
sary gold to give a gilt-edged finish to such aspirations as may give a 
new pleasure to existence.”— Albany Post. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“This is an amusing story, racy in style, interesting in plan, and charm- 
ing in delineation of characters. ... A captivating story.”— The 
Saturday Evening Post, of San Francisco. 

We, Von Arid ens. 

“Full of life from beginning to end. It is one of those lively books that 
are always in demand.”— The Grand Rapids Eagle. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“Miss Douglas has written a very pleasant domestic story. The family 
is a lively one, and their several characters are deftly drawn.”— The 
Chicago Evening Journal. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“ There is a good deal of bright anecdote in the book.”— The Troy Times. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“It is a homelike story with no silly nonsense in it. . . . It ought to 
have a large sale.”— The Commercial Advocate, of Detroit. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“This is a cleverly contrived story, possessing marked originality and 
interest. ”— Phil adelphia Herald . 

We, Von Arldens. 

“A lively, rattling story of county and village life.” — Pittsburgh Daily 
Post. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“A spicily written story, of powerful grasp and decidedly Western 
texture. We have been exceedingly favorably impressed with the 
story, and think our readers will agree with us in this opinion.”— 
Pittsburgh Evening Chronicle. 

We, Von Arldens. 

“ It is a very spicy book, bubbling over with wit and repartee of a harm- 
less kind. ... In fact, the book is a very pleasant pill to take for 
the blues.”— Boston Sunday Herald. 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY, 

Publishers, CHICAGO. 


* 


A NEW AMERICAN NOVEL 


<3i c r 

c® r ici fi I eFi i h i re. 



“In many respects this is a strong story. "—Evening Journal , Chicago. 

v Spiritedly written. ''—Gazette, Cincinnati. 

“The writer may be enrolled in the list of successful authors.”— Iowa 
State Register. 

“ It is a story wrought out with considerable skill. The style is graceful 
and subdued, and although there are several sensational incidents, they are 
treated in quite an artistic manner,”— Daily Evening Traveler , Boston, May 
*7. 1880. 

“ Holds the attention closely from beginning to end.”— Bookseller and 
Stationer , Chicago, May, 1880. 

•‘The story is not overdrawn, but it is natural and life-like, in plot and 
design, so much so that it does not read like a novel, but a true history of a 

beautiful life.”— Albany (N.Y.) Sunday Press , May 2, 1880. 

# 

“ This is an American domestic novel, pure and clean, and beautiful 
in all its elements.” * * Missouri Republican, St. Louis, May 8, 1880. 

“ On the whole ‘Her Bright Future’ is above the general average, and, 
if a first dash into authorship, is at least very readable as well as unpre- 
tending.”— Evening News, Philadelphia, May 7, 1880 




HENRY A. SUMNER &, CO., 

Publishers, CHICAGO. 


Hammock Series, No. 4. 


“A Sane Lunatic.” 

BY THE AUTHOR OF “ NO GENTLEMEN.** 


12 mo., 325 pp. ; Cloth, Black and Gold Side and Back Stamp; Price, $1.50. 
This charming domestic novel should be obtained by all lovers of good reading. 
Being fresh and bright in conversational matters and original in detail, it can 
not fail to please. The book is illustrated with a unique frontispiece. 


“A Sane Lunatic.” 

“‘No Gentlemen* was a good novel, but ‘A Sane Lunatic* is abetter 
one. Mrs. Burnham has a good deal of humor and some dramatic 
skill. Two or three of her characters, with the clever dialog and 
absurd situations, would furnish material for a short comedy that could 
not fail to take. We commend the book for Summer reading, for, if 
not great, it is certainly entertaining, and the work of a bright woman 
who bids fair to become a very well-known novelist.” — The Chicago 
Tribune. 

“A Sane Lunatic.” 

“We can assure those who get ‘A Sane Lunatic’ that they will have a 
thoroughly enjoyable book. It is a story of every-day life, told in 
charming language, with a plot of strength and intenseness.” — The 
Philadelphia Chronicle- Herald. 

“A Sane Lunatic.” 

“ The gifted authoress of 1 No Gentlemen ’ has written a new novel for the 
Hammock Series. The scenes of this delightful s oryare mainly laid 
in Fairylands, Lawyer Forrest’s beautiful villa near Boston, with a 
trip to the White Mountains between times. The heroine, Leslie For- 
rest, is a fine specimen of a lovely young lady, while Nell Valentine, 
her particular friend, is a vivacious little creature and a good little 
body, who would even sacrifice her own happiness to Leslie’s. The 
hero of the tale is broad-shouldered, generous-hearted Douglas Faver- 
nel, and his excellent second is Tom Laible, always full of fun and a 
great favorite with the ladies. It is indeed a charming story.” — The 
Golden Rule , Boston. 

“A Sane Lunatic.” 

“One of the cleverest of the annual swarm of ‘Summer Novels’ that has 
yet appeared.” — New York World. 

* 

“A Sane Lunatic.” 

“It is an excellent bit of Summer reading, being told in a very pleasant 
manner, with nicely drawn characters— comparatively few in number, 
an interesting but not too deeply involved plot, and other praise* 
worthy features.” — The Saturday Evening Post, Philadelphia 


Mailed postpaid on receipt of price. . 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY, Publishers, 

205 Wabash Ave., CHICAGO. 


Hammock Series, No. 3 , 


“Off the Rocks.” 

A NOVEL. 


12 mo., 417 pp.; Cloth, Black and Gold Stamp; Price, $1.50. 


“Off the Rocks. ” 

“One of the very best novels for Summer reading is the latest issue of 
‘The Hammock Series , 1 under the title of ‘Off the Rocks . 1 It will 
surely interest, amuse and delight you. It is bright and fresh, and if 
you want a really good book, get it.” — The Louisville Farm and Fire- 
side. 

“Off the Rocks.” 

“It relates principally to the family of a retired army officer, and among 
its thrilling incidents is the supposed loss of a husband at sea, and his 
final restoration to his wife. The characters are well contrasted, and 
the book is an entertaining on e" —The Boston Courier . 

“Off the Rocks.” 

“It is a novel likely to be popular, for, in addition to the working out of 
an interesting plot, the by-play is full of humor.” — The N. Y. World. 

“ Off the Rocks.” 

“ It is a most entertaining novel, and the best commendation we can give 
it is to sincerely advise our subscribers to procure a copy.” — The 
Commercial Advertiser , Detroit. 

“Off the Rocks.” 

“It is the best novel that as so far appeared in the ‘ Hammock Series.’” 
— The Rochester Morning Herald. 

“Off the Rocks.” 

“ * Off the Rocks 1 has our heartiest approval in every way, and we hope 
the Irish population will patronize the book, not only for its own intrin- 
sic worth, but as a token of appreciation of the talents of their gifted 
countrywoman who is its author. It is not only well, but charmingly 
written, and the plot is of more than ordinary interest.” — The Citizen , 
Chicago. 

“Off the Rocks.” 

“The story is well told, and will prove entertaining to its readers. 11 — 
The Pittsburgh Times. 


Mailed postpaid on receipt of price. 

HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY, Publishers, 

205 Wabash Ave., CHICAGO. 







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